Sacrifice Par Amarth
by Lisette
Summary: Complete BtVS.HP.Pretender- Part 3 of ToF Trilogy - What if Glory wasn't the hell God driven out of her dimension, but rather the two gods that opposed her? Buffy and co. are about to find out how two lesser gods aren't better than one.
1. Chapter 1

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 1"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: The television series, _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ and all related characters and material belong to Joss Whedon and UPN. All things Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling. The television series, _The Pretender_, and all related characters and material belong to MTM, TNT and NBC Productions. I claim ownership solely of the story idea - no profit will be made by this.

**Author's Note:** To think that this all started so small! I swear that when I started "Twist of Fate," I had no idea that it would be the start of a trilogy! And to be honest, this story is getting posted far sooner than I had anticipated. Let's just say that circumstances have prodded me into posting sooner than I had wanted in order to clear up any potential confusion. In any case, this story unfortunately needs to start with quite a hefty author's note, so my apologies in advance! First off, I want to clarify some timing issues we may experience. This story is going to start in prior to the very last scene and where we ended in "Racing With Destiny." To clear up any possible confusion, we'll say that Harry and Buffy bid everyone a fond adieu in early July at Heathrow in London while their final beach scene occurred in late October. Likewise, this story is starting in a bit earlier - we'll call it late August. If you need a recap of the previous two stories, just jump to the feedback chapter after this - but an additional warning that the best way to avoid confusion is to just go back and read the other two if you haven't already.

Also, I'm going to be following in the footsteps of some amazing LoTR writers (Thundera Tiger and Bryn) and use the next chapter as a place to respond to every single feedback that is left for me. If you guys can take the time and effort to leave such amazing feedback, the least I can do is take the time to respond to it - and this way the responses won't clutter up the story! I'm sure that you'll all catch on to what I'm doing within a few postings, but whatever you do, just remember that if you're going to review a chapter, review the actual chapter and not the following feedback chapter. If you do, then later when I replace the feedback chapter with an actual post you will be unable to review that chapter. Hehe... hope that wasn't too confusing for anyone! Just email me if you have questions!

Finally, a cookie to whoever can figure out the meaning of the title! I'll warn you, each word is in a different language ;p Anyway, rambling concluded and back by popular demand I give you all the sequel to the sequel! ;p Please enjoy!

**Brief Description:** BtVS/HP/Pretender Crossover - Part Three of the ToF Trilogy, an AU look at BtVS Season 5. What if Glory wasn't the hell God that was driven out of her hell dimension, but rather the two gods that opposed her? Buffy and crew are about to find out first hand how two lesser hell gods aren't necessarily better than one.

**Rating:** PG-13 for Content

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Sacrifice Par Amarth

Late August

With a soft sigh of summered air the swaying trees brushed their leafy limbs against the smooth glass of the large dormer window that overlooked the massive bed. Nothing louder than a soft shushing transferred into the room beyond, yet that slightest sound was all it took for one of the bed's occupants to be jolted into sudden awareness. Muscles tensing, Buffy slipped one hand beneath her pillow and wrapped her small fingers around the reassuring cool shaft of the dagger she always kept at hand even as her diminished senses were cast far and wide, straining against their mortal limits in search of danger. In thick silence one minute passed, and then two, and then several more after that before the former slayer finally allowed her hand to slip free of the silver dagger. Sighing, the breath that she had been holding passed between quirked lips as she allowed tensed muscles to loosen, her body automatically turning and rolling against the warm figure that lay beside her.

It had been a little over two months since the defeat of Voldemort and the subsequent bombshell that had torn Buffy's world apart, and the past two months had carried her around the world and back again as she searched outside and within for herself. If Buffy wasn't the slayer anymore, what was she? More importantly, _who_ was she? It was a question that had plagued her mind, both waking and sleeping, and one that she struggled with even now. It seemed to be a question that she _shouldn't_ have to struggle with for everything in her body screamed at the impossibility of the limits that had been forced upon her. It had taken her far too many years to finally accept the fact that whether she liked it or not, Buffy Summers was the Slayer. She couldn't just try _not_ being the slayer as her mother had once asked of her, for being a slayer was ingrained into her very being. She was _chosen_ to be the slayer and now that she wasn't... secretly, she was beginning to fear that it was going to take her several more years to figure out what that meant. At least it was a process that she wasn't forced to endure alone. After all, she wasn't the only one to have lost herself that night.

Smiling sadly, Buffy allowed her green eyes to track lovingly over the lean figure that slept soundly beside her. Even in the dim moonlight her sharp eyes could make out his messy, raven-colored hair, dark eyelashes hiding his beautiful emerald eyes, and a strong chin below full, smooth lips... and the lightning-shaped scar that seemed to glow white in the cold moonlight that washed over their bed. No, she wasn't the only one to lose herself that night, for Harry too had suffered a grave price for the defeat of the darkest wizard this world had ever seen. And in the end, as she watched Harry struggle with the same question that she struggled with - constantly striving to find a place for himself in a world that no longer welcomed him as a wizard.... well, despite the serious and extremely gratifying ass-kicking that they delivered to old Moldy Wart, she couldn't help but wonder why such sacrifices were needed. It seemed like such a cruel, thoughtless, and completely pointless price to pay to those damned Powers That Be that seemed to revel in making her life a living hell. After all, if she were one of the Powers, well, then she sure as well wouldn't force _her_ champions to... well, give up their champion-ness.

Mentally groaning at the dismal track that her thoughts were taking her this night, Buffy sighed once more and rolled away from Harry's side and stretched her arms out above her. Even though it was in the heat of summer back home in Sunnydale, here in the Alps the weather was pleasantly cool and the chilled air felt good on her bared skin. Hmm... bared skin... Grinning devilishly, Buffy rolled back over and eyed the teen that was sleeping beside her. It was never any fun to be the only one who wasn't asleep at night, and while Harry never begrudged her for waking him when sleep eluded her, desperate for someone or something to take her mind from her thoughts, she couldn't help but feel a stab of guilt for her actions. Even before being called as the Slayer so many years ago, Buffy had never required very much sleep. However, it took only one look at the dark circles under Harry's eyes after a night of less than adequate rest - a night of sleep that she had robbed him of - for her to promise herself never to do it again. Not that the promise held any further than the next night when sleep eluded her. Sighing, she allowed her eyes to trail over his still features and silently warred with herself before turning away, freeing her bare legs from the warm comforter and settling her feet on the cool wooden floor, idly adjusting her small tank as she went. 

They had only been in their little chalet... or was it a bungalow? - in the mountains of Switzerland for a week now, but already Buffy was able to navigate the little rooms in the dark. Then again, it wasn't as though she didn't have plenty of practice. After all, there was no denying that her slayer strength and speed were gone - her healing abilities as well, or so she assumed, seeing as how she wasn't exactly eager to test that theory. And while the loss of those abilities was a hard blow, it was also one that she was forced to endure before while in the hands of the Centre. She had put up with that loss for over five months and had to admit that the experience, while still providing her ample material for the nightmares that still haunted her sleep, was almost beneficial in helping her to deal with what she was going through now. But out of everything, the one thing that she was having the worst time adjusting to was the loss of her enhanced senses. The former slayer found it unnerving in every way possible by the fact that not only could she no longer sense Harry, but she couldn't sense _anything_. She couldn't sense a person's approach until they somehow alerted her to their presence, either vocally and physically, and more than once Harry's unexpected arrival caused her to strike out. All in all, the lack of her special sense made Buffy feel vulnerable in a way that she had never before experienced - a vulnerability that prompted her to keep a dagger always within reach and which kept her awake more hours than not in the wee hours of the night. Like now.

Sighing once more, Buffy silently pushed up from the large bed, tugging her boxers back into place as she moved on bare feet to the small hall beyond. Pausing on the threshold, Buffy turned back and allowed her gaze to sweep over Harry's half-naked form, his tanned skin illuminated by the bright moonlight and playing off of the white sheets that were draped over his chest and tangled around his feet, the soft cotton of his dark boxers contrasting with the bright wash of light. Smiling softly, she slowly shook her head, lifting a slender hand to tuck an errant strand of her long hair behind her shoulder as she padded silently down the hall and into the dimly lit kitchen beyond. Smothering a large yawn, Buffy moved over to the large, stainless steel fridge and tugged on the handle, wincing as a flood of bright light spilled from the open door and illuminated her small form. Blinking against the harsh glare she allowed her eyes to scan the shelves, looking for anything to distract her and finally settling on a bottle of water. Shivering slightly at the rush of cooled air over her exposed skin, Buffy reached for the water and was just pulling it free when the hand snaked out of nowhere and clamped over her mouth even as a strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her arms against her side and sending the bottle thudding against the floor as she was lifted in the air and pinned against the person behind her.

* * *

Jerking slightly, Harry forced his body to lay still as his mind tried to process what had woken him from his light slumber. Muscles tensing, he listened to the quiet house - a quiet that was shattered by a soft thud from the kitchen followed by the sounds of a person's muffled grunt. Moving before conscious thought, Harry grabbed his glasses from the stand beside him and was putting them on even as his other hand was sliding beneath Buffy's pillow, his hand searching for the dagger that she always kept handy... and that was no where to be found. Yet even that disturbing thought did little to detract from his growing worry at the sounds of what could only be a struggle that were drifting into the dark room from the hall beyond.

"Buffy," he whispered, his word catching in his throat as a cold sliver a fear worked its way down his spine. There was no logical reason to fear danger coming to either one of them. After all, Buffy was no longer the slayer and he was no longer a wizard - no longer even The Boy Who Lived in his own mind. Buffy never left a foe unvanquished and together they had defeated Lord Voldemort. There should have been nothing to fear, especially when hidden away in the little house they had rented in the middle of nowhere high in the mountains of Switzerland... yet fear they ever did. After all, to say that it was disconcerting to go from the feeling of being able to protect himself and those he loved with a mere thought to... this muggleness - well, that was putting it mildly. In the end, there was a reason that Buffy always kept a knife ready, and that fear seemed to have born itself out this night.

Twisting away from her side of the bed, Harry swung his long legs towards the cold floor, only to freeze as the shadows erupted from the room around him and took form into two dark strangers cloaked in flowing brown robes. "What-" he began, his voice lost in a surprised grunt as strong hands wrapped around each arm and pulled him bodily from the bed, his feet slipping out from under him and sending him crashing painfully to the smooth wooden floor. Grimacing at the bruises he could already feel forming, Harry didn't even have time to fully comprehend what was happening before he was hauled to his feet and propelled from the room and down the short hallway that led to the kitchen, a robed man on each arm.

Yet even while in the midst of the unexpected attack, Harry instinctively found himself turning inward, searching for the power that had always been there, trying to draw upon it to fight these men in the only way that he knew how... only to realize that such a thing was an impossibility now. There was _nothing_ for him to draw upon as Buffy's Powers royally managed to screw them both over in the fight against Voldemort. Not that he was bitter or anything.

Okay, so he was bitter. Royally bitter. Who wouldn't be after going from so much power to.. to this?

Harry felt powerless - helpless - and such feelings only caused the anger that had been simmering in the back of his mind to flare forth into a blinding flame. While it was true that he was no longer a wizard, a guy didn't date a former slayer for any length of time without picking up a few things - such as the ability to hold your own in a fight even without the added benefit of superhuman powers. A fact that Harry quickly put into use as he twisted out of the strong grip of the guy to his right while slamming down the heel of his foot and grinding it on the foot of the other before following up with an elbow to the one who was even now grabbing for the toes that Harry had quite effectively clobbered.

To an outside observer, the scene probably would have been quite amusing, what with Harry putting up the fight of his life in nothing more than the boxers he had been sleeping in, his hair mussed by sleep. Then again, Harry wasn't an outside observer and former-slayer girlfriend with the moves to prove it or not, the second that a third cloaked man stepped into the fray and pressed the missing dagger against Harry's throat, the moonlight glittering off of the silver blade - well, it certainly took the humor out of the situation. After all, despite what Professor Snape continually insisted upon, Harry was anything but stupid and could easily recognize that for the moment, this fight was over.

Freezing, the teen slowly straightened and allowed himself to be brought the rest of the way into the small kitchen, two men once more fiercely gripping an arm each while the third led before him, stepping backwards with the knife ever pressed against the skin of his throat. However, upon entering the kitchen even the knife was forgotten as Harry's eyes lit upon the shadowy figure that was struggling with the small form of his girlfriend - a girlfriend that was putting up a much more admirable struggle, despite her small stature, than he had been capable of.

"Buffy!" he cried out, instantly dismissing the knife pressed tight against his jugular and his earlier wisdom to concede defeat as he renewed his struggles against his captors, desperate to reach the former slayer's side.

And even as Harry was calling out to her, Buffy was already admitting to herself that without her slayer mojo there was just no way that she was getting out of the tight grip that held her. At least, no way that she would normally consider. Instead, she had to admit that it was time to fight dirty. Green eyes narrowing, Buffy opened her mouth and bit into the hand that was clamped so firmly over her mouth even as she stomped down on his foot with everything she had, unknowingly mimicking Harry's earlier struggles. As the man let out a muffled curse, Buffy was already twisting out of his grip and diving for a nearby drawer, intent upon the score of knives that she knew were hidden within. She knew that if she could just get armed, the robed goons didn't stand a chance... or at least, she and Harry would certainly stand a better chance. After all, how poor was that? Sneaking up in the dark and taking Harry while he was still sleeping? Any self-respecting goon would have waited until the light of day and- As two new figures seemed to bleed out from the shadows, each one gripping an arm and pulling her back towards the center of the kitchen, Buffy's inner rant was forgotten as she was shoved against the hard edge of the square table that rest behind her.

"Why does this always happen to us?" Buffy grunted as she lifted her head to meet Harry's emerald gaze, almost wincing at the sound of her own voice even as she took in the fact that they were royally and utterly screwed. There were now eight opponents that she could see: three doing their best to control a Harry Potter that looked quite enraged as he struggled in his boxers, the two that were busy contending with her, the one that she had bitten a few seconds before, as well as two others that finally stepped forward. In the dim wash of moonlight from the many windows that dotted the room, Buffy could see that all of the men were wearing the same ugly brown robes that were belted around their waists with thick brown cords, giving them a very monkish appearance. And while the monk idea would certainly give credence to the unnerving silence that they all seemed pretty fond of, she had the distinct impression that monks were supposed to be all about peace and harmony - and not attacking strangers in their own rented hideaway.

Frowning, Buffy renewed her struggles as she unknowingly fell into the only defense that was available: sarcastic wit. "What, did someone steal one of your mules or something?" she asked as she aimed a vicious kick at one of her captors, only to find her aim go awry as the two men lifted her and pushed her back on the table behind her.

"Buffy!" Harry yelled again, his voice cracking as the one she had injured and one other stepped forward, each grabbing a leg and helping their brethren to pin Buffy to the wooden table. "Let her go!" he roared, his words mixing with hers as her eyes locked with his own - and it was the fear that she was desperately trying to hide that bit into him more than anything else. After all, as a Slayer, Buffy had always valued control above all else. She had the strength and the power to always be in control of a situation - and it was control that the Centre had taken from her when they imprisoned her for over five months; control that they taunted her with as they viciously beat her almost daily; and control that they eventually used against her as they broke her with drugs and bent her to their will. And with four men pinning her to the table with no room, and more importantly, no _strength_ with which to fight them, these monks had just taken that control from her once more.

But all of their cries seemed to fall upon deaf ears as the one man who was unencumbered by either Buffy or Harry moved until he was standing at the head of the table, his hands reaching down until they were clasped around Buffy's pale face. Softly at first the man began to chant in a language that was unknown to either, and within moments the rest of the men followed along, their voices mingling until they sounded as one.

"Harry?" Buffy whispered, her voice more of a strangled plea then anything else as the chanting sounded around and over her prostrate form, deep and ominous and slowly growing in volume. She knew - Buffy _ knew_ that there was nothing Harry could do to help her, no more than she could help herself, yet that did little to still her whispered plea as the very air itself seemed to crackle with energy. Fighting back tears, Buffy turned her eyes away from her tormentors and instead leveled her green gaze on Harry's panicked features. Even when getting the crap beaten out of her by Lyle, and later by Moldy Wart himself, Buffy had never felt so vulnerable - so weak. So _defenseless_. It was a feeling completely alien to the former slayer and it was one that she found she wasn't enjoying at all. Idly, she couldn't help but wonder how Xander did it. Out of all of them, he was the only one of their friends who was completely and absolutely normal. He had no super powers, no magical background, no Wiccan prowess, no werewolf-enhanced senses - he had nothing but what every other human out there is blessed with, and yet he never once abandoned their side in the face of danger. Xander had always been willing to face the worst that the Hellmouth could throw at them with nothing but his witty repartee at his defense and he did all of this with far more bravery than Buffy was able to possess at this moment. Especially when Harry's eyes widened even further, his eyes locked on something above her even as the room began to fill with an eerie green light.

Biting back a distressed moan, Buffy focused on the courage that Xander contained in abundance and allowed her friend's distant strength to flow through her as she forced her eyes away from Harry and looked at what had so captivated his attention - and immediately wished that she hadn't. "What the-" she began, her eyes locked upon a glowing green ball of energy that the robed goons had somehow conjured into the very air above her body, her words dying away as that same ball of energy began to lower towards her.

Courage be damned, for if Xander could face this situation without flinching, more power to him. Buffy, however, knew that such a thing was very much beyond her grasp - especially as her skin began to tingle and the air became charged with energy, her lungs gasping for something to breathe. "Harry? Harry!" Buffy yelled, her struggles intensifying as at once the strangers' intentions became clear. With a slowness that was agony the energy came ever closer to her body, her skin beginning to burn as the energy was forced down by the chant that seemed to reverberate in her very bones. And then it _was _agony as everything in her body rejected the energy that seemed to stretch out and merge with her skin, digging down into her core and setting her body on fire. "_HARRY!!!_"

As Buffy's agonized scream ripped from her throat and echoed throughout the small kitchen, the monks' chant seemed to come to a crescendo as her body arched back on the table, her muscles tightening for a powerful instant... before everything fell silent. The green light was gone, the energy having disappeared into Buffy's form which lay unmoving on the hard wooden table, head turned to the side and a cascade of golden hair hiding her still features. "Buffy?" Harry whispered, his voice sounding loud to his own ears as the four monks who had been holding her slowly stepped away, releasing their charge and leaving her lying there on the table - seemingly forgotten as they seemed to sway from exhaustion. "Buffy?" he asked again, his words even softer now as he shrugged out of his captors' weak grasp and shuffled over to the table.

Stunned by everything he had witnessed and by the agony he was forced to watch Buffy endure, Harry could only stare at her limp form, her face pale in the bright moonlight. Hesitantly he reached forward, one shaking hand gently brushing at the hair that hid her features before settling against her cheek - and at the contact of his skin against hers, whatever spell had been holding him quickly shattered as Harry lifted fiery green eyes to the men that still littered their kitchen. Wordlessly he reached forward and gathered Buffy's limp form in his arms, cradling her against the bare skin of his chest as he backed away from the table, almost falling back into a corner of the room. When no one followed, Harry finally turned his attention back to the girl in his arms as he slid down the wall and settled heavily on the floor, his arms supporting her small frame against him even as one hand cupped her chin. "Buffy? Buffy, wake up," he murmured, the fear chilling his heart as she seemed oblivious to his every effort to rouse her. He could feel her heart pounding softly beneath her breast, and her breathing seemed deep and even, but that did little to still his fears as she refused to wake.

Fear giving way to anger, Harry turned his green eyes, glittering with unshed tears, back towards the monks that watched his actions with what could only be described as pity. "What did you do to her?" he asked, his voice betraying none of the weakness that he felt - the powerlessness of his inability to protect the one that he loved most. "Who are you?!"

With a quiet shuffle, the man who had stood at Buffy's head and led the others in the chant that brought the energy upon her slowly moved past the others until he was kneeling before the dark-haired youth - more man than boy, but undeniably young when faced with what he had witnessed tonight. "They are coming," he murmured, his heavily accented voice low as his brown eyes swept over the young couple. "My brothers and I can no longer keep it safe. _You_ must now keep it safe."

"Keep _what_ safe?" Harry demanded, his arms tightening around Buffy's limp frame as he held her closer to him, wanting nothing more than to kick the man that stood before him and make him get as far from Buffy as possible. But with Buffy cradled as she was against him, both knew that the most Harry could do was glare from his little corner - glare with an anger that would make Professor Snape proud.

"The Key," the monk replied, shrugging his narrow shoulders as though that answer would explain it all - as if the answer was that simple. "We had to ensure that you both would protect it, would protect it with your lives. The only way to be sure was to make it a part of the Slayer."

"But... I don't understand," Harry whispered, shaking his head slowly as he tore his eyes from the strange man and looked down upon Buffy's face.

"The Key is now as much a part of the Slayer as the Slayer is a part of the girl," the monk continued, his voice low as his eyes, too, locked on the small girl the boy held - the young woman that they had entrusted it to. "It was the only way to be sure that you would both protect it," he murmured again, perhaps trying to convince the boy as much as himself.

"But... but she's not the Slayer, and I'm not a wizard anymore," Harry countered, his eyes lifting to look at the monk once more - eyes that were filled with so much pain, both personal and shared. "We're just Harry and Buffy," he whispered, and from the way the words were spoken it was evident that the simple phrase was one that had been repeated often, both in his mind and aloud. "You saw us - we can't even protect each other," he added, his voice growing bitter as his eyes slipped down to Buffy's pale face. "How do you expect us to protect your key?"

Sighing heavily, the monk slowly shook his head as he looked at them with pitying eyes. "You still do not understand. Neither of you," he murmured. "You cannot stop being what you are, no more than she can stop being what she was born to be. It is who you are. One cannot exist without the other and you cannot simply decide one day that you are no longer either."

"You called that simple?"

Startled, Harry looked down once more and felt his heart catch as Buffy's green eyes slowly blinked open. For a moment they merely held each other's gaze, assuring one another that both would be alright before Buffy leveled a heated glare at the monk that stood by them. While she wasn't exactly sure what had just gone down, what with the agonizing pain driving her to unconsciousness and all, she had been with it enough to catch the man's final words of crack pot wisdom - and that was enough.

Smiling softly at the spirited girl, the monk slowly shook his head. "No, my child," he whispered as he slowly reached out and rest one hand upon each of their shoulders, saddened by how both stiffened under his touch, the boy holding the girl even tighter against him. "And neither will this," he added as practically simultaneously both of their eyes began to droop as their muscles began to relax. "Now rest," he murmured, a soft command hidden in the low words as their breathing began to even. "They are coming, yet in the morning this will be no more than a passing dream," he added as both seemed to fall into a deep sleep. "You must protect one another and keep moving. Leave these names behind you and leave this place - leave everything you once knew. We will try to draw them away from you, but you must do your part," he commanded as he slowly stood before them once more. "Just keep moving and stay away from the Hellmouth," he added as he gently rest a heavy hand upon each of their bowed heads. "Stay together," he whispered before stepping back and motioning a few of his brethren forward.

Without speaking, one man tenderly lifted the small slayer into his arms, cradling her sleeping form against him even as two others lifted the young man. As one unit they then shifted their precious cargo and moved them back into the darkened bedroom, settling both of the young ones onto their bed and drawing their discarded covers back over their silent forms. Watching from the doorway, the lead monk stood and watched over them until all of the rest of his brethren had left. Nodding once, he looked upon the couple for what he knew would be the last time. "The fate of the world rests with you both," he murmured before turning away and blending once more with the darkness.

* * *

Sighing softly, Buffy felt her dream world slowly slip past as the bright morning light pushed the dark night away, and with it went the faint rumblings of things better left remembered... or perhaps forgotten when the sun chose to shine so brightly. Bleary-eyed, the former slayer slowly arched her back, stretching stiff muscles much like a cat as her green eyes drifted to the young man, still fast asleep beside her. Smiling, Buffy gently scooted over until she was pressed against the warmth of his skin, one arm draping over him while her head found the place on his chest that seemed made for her alone. Sighing contentedly she snuggled up against him, allowing one leg to drift over his while her eyes slipped shut once more - only to blink open as a hand gently ran through her tangled blond hair. "Did I wake you?" she asked, a small smile playing at her lips and thankful that he couldn't see it. After all, they both knew full well that she had woken him, just as she did every morning.

"Yes, but in a much kinder way than Ron ever did," Harry murmured as one hand groped for his glasses on the table beside him. "And much, much better than the Dursley's," he added with a small smile as he turned to the bedside table in confusion. "Buffy, have you seen my glasses?" he asked, green eyes barely making out the fact that his glasses weren't in their usual place, the place that he _always_ put them.

"Well, I should _hope _that Ron never woke you like that," Buffy added wryly as she wrinkled her nose at the visual Harry's words unfortunately brought to mind. Snickering, she quickly evaded Harry's playful shove as she pulled away and sat up, stretching out unusually stiff muscles even as she idly tried to remember what they had done yesterday to cause her limbs to ache so. Shrugging away the idle musings, Buffy turned, her sharp gaze landing on the glasses that were placed neatly on her bedside table. "Got 'em," she murmured as she clambered to that side of the bed, snagged the thin wire rims, and then rolled back to place them in Harry's waiting hands.

"Thanks," Harry returned evenly as he pushed back the thick comforter, his eyes absently noting the dark bruises that were forming on his knees. Frowning softly, Harry gently ran a finger over each bruised appendage before shrugging the injury away. "Have you given any thought to what you want to do today? Maybe head into the village?"

Frowning, Buffy watched as Harry moved around the room, gathering stuff for his shower even as she puzzled over his words - and more importantly, the strange reluctance that was growing within her. "No... I was actually thinking that maybe it was time to get going."

"Already?" Harry asked, pausing in his tasks to send the former slayer a puzzled glance. "But we have it rented for another week yet, and Ron and Hermione were planning on apparating in in a few days, remember?" he asked as he slowly turned back and settled once more on the bed beside her.

"I know, but... well, I think we should get going," Buffy returned, frowning thoughtfully at her words. "We should keep moving.... shouldn't we?" she asked, turning the question back at him, somehow hoping that he could understand her reluctance more than she could. After all, Buffy had been the one to push him into staying in Switzerland for so long. It had just been so beautiful and Harry had wanted to share it with his two best friends. Not that she could blame him, for after all, this was supposed to be their last stop before returning to their friends and the responsibilities that they had left behind. They both knew that they couldn't avoid their future forever and had to work to find their place in the world once more. After Switzerland they had planned on heading to the Hellmouth for a bit, to pay her own friends a visit and to see if that was where they belonged. But now... now she wasn't too sure. All she knew was that suddenly she didn't want their traveling to be over. She wanted to stay together, keep moving, and maybe... and maybe their friends would be alright without them. "Shouldn't we?" she asked again, frowning as she watched a myriad of emotions cross over Harry's face, the ones that she could read ranging from disappointment to puzzlement to further confusion, before finally settling on acceptance.

"No, you're right," Harry agreed, Buffy's insane logic suddenly... well, suddenly making sense. "We should stay together and just go," he murmured, absently pulling Buffy against him and dropping a light kiss against the golden crown of her hair. "We can always see Ron and Hermione... later," he murmured distractedly as he held Buffy tight against him. For some reason... for some reason he felt like he never wanted to let her go. Like he... like he wanted to protect her, which was of course quite ridiculous considering the fact that Buffy was the one who used to be a slayer. If there was anyone who was capable of protecting anyone else in their rather mundane condition, that someone would of course be Buffy.... but that logic did nothing to dispel the almost foreign-like feeling.

"We... we can call-"

"We'll leave them a letter," Harry quickly cut in, somewhat surprised by his own answer. "No one needs to know that we're going. It'll just be you and I and we can just.... go."

"Go where?" Buffy returned, a small frown pulling at her lips. She was so confused, as though something was wrong but for the life of her, she couldn't figure out what could possibly be wrong. After all, the sun was shining, she was in Switzerland, and Harry was holding her as though there was nothing more precious in all of the world.

"How about Tibet? Have you ever been to Tibet?"

Rolling her eyes, Buffy finally pulled away and set about packing her meager belongings. "Before meeting you, I'd never been out of California," she returned dryly even as Harry swept her up in a warm embrace.

"Then Tibet it is," Harry murmured as he held her close. "And as long as we stay together and keep moving, they'll never find us. I won't let them."

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 2"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to the opening chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: Welcome back and kudos to those of you who took up the 'figure out the title' challenge! So far major kudos go to solarphoenix for figuring out that Sacrifice is indeed English and Par is indeed French. So far that gives us a working title of "Sacrifice By..." - now we just need that last pesky word. I'll give you a hint. It's not a language that's very common and I'm a very, very big nerd for using it! ;p Hope that helps. Also, I wanted to do a shout out to let you all know that the summer session of the Crossing Over Awards is now open for nominations! You guys should really check it out and nominate all of your crossover favorites! *HINT HINT* Check out Katharra's newly finished BtVS/LoTR crossover, "Ripple Effect." It's quite excellent! ;p And a thank you to whoever nominated "Racing With Destiny" and got me hooked on this award site - I'm going to go crazy nominating all of my own favorites later today! ;p You can do the same if you want to at: 

* * *

Late October

"That's some nice leather you got goin' on - imported?"

"With your blood staining it, bitch, what does it matter?"

Grinning slyly, Faith easily avoided her opponent's next wild swipe as she danced gracefully back. "Whoa, take it easy, big guy - I ain't in no hurry," she retorted, a saucy grin lifting her painted lips as she cocked one leather-clad hip to the side. "'Sides, you're gonna have to land a hit before you can claim first blood," she added, brown eyes narrowing dangerously on the biker-looking vamp that seethed before her. 

The vampire was large and impressive looking, tattoos marring each muscled arm and a neck the size of her waist. If the Kid had been with her, she knew that Celeste would have been shaking in her little French shoes, her fear hidden behind a mask of courage. However, if the Kid was along, that would also mean that more than likely her snide French watcher, Bertrone, was along as well - and that automatically spoiled any fun that she was hoping to find. Luckily for Faith, the Kid and her watcher were over patrolling on the other side of town, paying the graveyards a visit while she got to play in the seedier end of town - her part of town.

With the strength of the slayer coursing through her veins, Faith nearly danced on the balls of her feet as the wannabe badass took another wild swing at her head. If he had been a little bit faster, or the dark-haired slayer just a little bit slower, he probably could have done some serious damage with the strength he put behind his blows. Thing was, his bulk made him slow and Faith's slayer prowess made her a force to be reckoned with. Anticipating the move, the lithe slayer merely ducked beneath his swipe and then retaliated with a swift kick that sent the massive vampire skidding back on the blacktop, through a gate, and into the empty parking lot of the closed factory that dominated the skyline behind him.

Eyes glowing yellow in rage, the large vampire slowly reclaimed its feet as it wiped a trail of borrowed blood from his puckered lips. "Hmm - guess first blood is mine," Faith pointed out as she slowly and deliberately followed the vampire into the deserted parking lot. "And while this has been fun, I got plans tonight and you're not in 'em," she muttered, grinning at the large brute as she lifted a slim stake from her stash and threw it end over end in the air before catching it easily in one hand. "Thanks for the work out, though," she added as she tossed the stake with deadly accuracy, the biker's muffled grunt echoing in the quiet night as the beast burst into ash.

Sighing softly at the loss of her plaything, Faith ran a hand through her shoulder-length brown hair, pushing the strands back into order even as she checked to make sure that no ash decorated either her leather halter or pants. "Damn, do I look good tonight," she murmured as she appreciatively ran her hands over the tight curves of her body, grinning as she thought to the night that was bound to only get better. Just a little bit longer on the patrol circuit and she'd be free to do her thing. And while she was slightly disappointed that Xander, Willow, and Tara had opted out on her little excursion, she also had enough sense to realize that the Scoobies just weren't cut out for the places she was going tonight. No Bronze action for her. Grinning, Faith crossed over to the lingering pile of ash and retrieved her stake, plucking it from the vampire's remains and tucking it back in the corner of her boot - and freezing as a flashlight was shined right in her face.

Wincing, Faith quickly lifted her hand and shielded her eyes from the harsh glare, dropping down into a defensive crouch and about to take action - only to pause once more as the light was finally lowered and she took in the security guard that stood opposite of her. Sighing, she slowly straightened even as she held back an angry tirade. After all, how could the guy know that she had just about dismembered him in a very painful way?

For a moment the two eyed each other, Faith's eyes darting down to the nightstick that the man was gripping with one hand - the hand that slowly relaxed once he deemed that the little vixen of a girl in front of him posed no threat. Erroneously decided, of course. "You won't find no rave parties here tonight," the man finally stated, his voice gruff even as his eyes slid over the brunette's curves.

"I know - it's a few blocks down tonight," Faith replied curtly, cutting the man off as she nonchalantly gathered her hair in a handhold behind her before letting the thick tresses slip through her finger - all the while smiling coyly at the way the man's eyes never seemed to leave her body. So the guy was old and probably had a family with tons of little kids back home - that didn't mean that she didn't enjoy his hungry stare any less. Besides, in her mind she was making the guy's night just that much brighter. But then, as always, the boredom quickly set in and Faith dropped the act and straightened once more. She wasn't lying when she said that she knew the rave was down the block, and while the night wasn't getting any younger, neither was she. No, this slayer had a party to attend and she planned on making the most of it. She wanted to feel it in the morning - in more ways than one. Turning away from the man, Faith began sauntering towards the street beyond the broken fence when the man's hesitant voice called her back.

"Hey, don't forget your... glow ball."

Confused, Faith turned back in time to have a small, glowing orb dropped in the palm of her hand. Intrigued, she slowly lifted the small ball and admired the way it seemed to brighten the dark night, turning her skin all sorts of colors.

"What is it?"

Shrugging, Faith quickly wrapped her hand around the orb and turned back towards the street. "No clue," she admitted absently over one shoulder. "But I'm sure I know of a few people who might."

* * *

Sighing contentedly, Buffy allowed the sound of the nearby surf to lull her into a state that was somewhere between waking and dreams, the hot sun beating down on her skin and making her want to purr like a kitten. Smiling, she rolled over on the soft blanket that was spread over the crystalline sand, green eyes dancing over to the boy that sat beside her, a look of firm concentration on his face. Curious, she pushed herself up until she was leaning on her elbow, pushing a golden wave of hair from her face as she looked at the pineapple that sat before him. A pineapple that lurched before it slowly lifted into the air and hovered a few inches above their blanket. "You're getting better," she murmured, breaking his concentration and sending the hard fruit thudding back to the blanket before him.

"I am," Harry agreed, idly adjusting his glasses as he smiled warmly at the girl that lay before him. She looked beautiful on their little deserted tropical beach, her skin bronzed by the sun's warmth and her smile serene. He didn't think that he had ever seen her look so relaxed or so... unburdened. Before, Buffy had always carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, but now... "How do you feel?" he asked as he slowly stretched out, muscles rippling on his back as he moved beside her, propping his elbow so that they were laying side by side, faces nearly touching.

"Stronger, faster," Buffy murmured, a small smile playing at her lips as she gently lifted her free hand to trail it lightly over his face, dropping feather light caresses on his high cheeks and smooth brow, fingers trailing over the scar that would never fade. "Not as strong as before, but I'm getting there, day by day," she added before a playful frown pulled at her lips. "Although this time, no touchy-feely-gropey with my inner core," she stated, trying to look stern and miserably failing. "Last time I felt like we were trying to fry my synapses again, and I just _know_ that Jarod would kick my butt if I did that again."

Attempting to school his features into one of solemn acceptance, Harry slowly nodded his head. "I promise. No more 'touchy-feely-gropey' with your inner slayer core... unless there's a dark, evil wizard that needs to be conquered," he amended as his hand easily caught hers before she could smack him for his words. Smiling, he gently pulled her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against her skin. She tasted of salt. Green eyes meeting green, Harry slowly pulled her hand away and allowed his smile to slip. "Should we go back?" he asked, knowing that the question needed to be asked. "The others miss us and I'm sure that someone somewhere could use our-"

"Not yet," Buffy broke in, silencing him with a few slender fingers pressed against his lips. "It's been my experience that the apocalypses tend to come on a yearly rotation, and since we've already fulfilled this year's apocalypse quotient, we should be good to go for at least another six months," she said, her face so serious before a small smile lifted her lips. "Besides... let's just be Buffy and Harry for a little bit longer," she added as she finally closed the distance between them, sealing her softly spoken words with a kiss.

Sighing softly, Harry leaned into the kiss and allowed it to deepen before Buffy's words finally penetrated. Frowning, he slowly pulled away as his gaze turned serious once more. "But we already are Buffy and Harry - that's never changed," he stated, pointing out what he knew to be true. And while he didn't exactly know _why_ it was true, that didn't seem to matter. Instead, he just accepted it as one of those things he just knew and never questioned - something that he seemed to be doing a lot lately, which was almost as disturbing in and of itself.

"I know," Buffy sighed, breaking through Harry's puzzled thoughts as a small frown pulled at her lips. Turning green eyes away from his questioning gaze, Buffy slowly rolled over until her back was pressed against the soft blanket, the hot sand burning through the thin covering and warming her back. "I just... I just don't want to go back yet," she admitted, lifting one slender arm to shield the bright sun's glare.

Frown deepening, Harry slowly pushed himself up until he was sitting on the blanket, his knees drawn up to his chest with the warm sun beating against his tanned skin. The strange thing was, Harry knew exactly what she was talking about because for some indefinable reason, he didn't want to go back yet either. Even if common sense was clamoring for him to do just that, something else, something more powerful than common sense, was telling him to keep going as they were.

"I didn't know that they had snowy owls in the Caribbean."

Startled from his thoughts, Harry turned and followed Buffy's puzzled gaze as a white speck dipped low over the water and practically hurtled in their direction. "Hedwig!" Harry gasped, opening his arms just in time to receive his beloved pet as the snowy owl practically tumbled into his lap. "How did you find us?" he asked, his tanned hands a stark contrast to his owl's rather bedraggled white feathers. "And what happened to you? You look terrible!" he murmured, a concerned frown pulling at his lips as, seemingly understanding his words, Hedwig promptly reached up and nipped at his ear far harder than normal. Wincing, Harry quickly lifted a hand to his wounded ear even as Buffy snickered beside him - but both fell silent as their eyes finally fell on the red envelope that was tied to Hedwig's clawed foot by a simple piece of string.

"Harry, what's that?" Buffy asked, watching as Harry quickly untied the dirty string and gently lifted the splattered red envelope - the one that looked like it had gone through all kinds of weather to make it to their little deserted island - even as Hedwig fluttered up until she was settled in the shade of the large trees a few feet behind them.

"It's a howler - from Hermione," he murmured, his eyes easily recognizing the neat printing that adorned the envelope. "And it's addressed to both of us," he stated, grimacing as memories of past howlers and how awful they were came to mind. "I don't want to open it," he added, frowning as he hesitantly turned the envelope over and over again in his hands. But even as the words left his mouth, Harry was more than aware that the unpleasantness of the howler really had nothing to do with his desire to leave it be. Instead.... it was almost as though he feared hearing from his long-time friend.

"Then don't," Buffy quickly urged, something akin to fear entering her green eyes as she stared at the envelope as though it could physically bring harm upon their heads. "Just leave it be and send Hedwig back. She doesn't belong down here. It's too hot," she murmured, knowing that her argument was weak, at best, but not really finding that she cared.

Sighing, Harry eyed the envelope with troubled eyes. He wanted nothing more than to do as Buffy suggested - to just forget that they had ever received the envelope and that their peace had never been interrupted. But another part of him seemed to rebel at the very thought. After all, Hermione had never sent him a howler before, and to do so now showed just how worried the others must be. But even that thought was a passing concern as a larger part begged him to forget about the others. He had Buffy here, she was safe, and they were hidden... what more did he really need? "If... if I don't open it, it's always worse," he finally murmured as he lifted trembling fingers to the seal of the envelope.

"Harry..." Buffy murmured, her voice tinged with a longing and fear that she didn't understand. Yet while something was telling her to grab the envelope from her boyfriend and rip it up before he revealed the contents... something else was holding her hand back - was struggling to keep it by her side. And the frightening part was that Buffy wasn't sure which part was really her. "Harry," she repeated, the word more of a strangled plea this time, for what, she didn't even know.

Closing his eyes, Harry stilled his hand and allowed the silence to thicken - before quickly jerking his finger beneath the seal and opening the magic of the howler. Instantly the envelope tore itself from his hand and pulled away, floating in the air before them as it rearranged itself into the form of a mouth - a very angry mouth.

"HARRY POTTER AND BUFFY SUMMERS," the letter began in the unmistakable voice of one very upset Molly Weasley, "WHAT _WERE_ YOU THINKING?! DISAPPEARING OFF THE FACE OF THE PLANET LIKE THAT! HOW _COULD_ YOU?! DO YOU KNOW HOW _WORRIED_ WE ALL HAVE BEEN?! AND LEAVING NOTHING BUT A LETTER! HAVE YOU BOTH GONE _DAFT_?!"

"Alright, Mum, that's enough!" Ron's voice quickly cut in, his exasperation evident. "Keep that up and you'll really scare 'em away. Oh, and hey Harry! Hey Buffy!"

"Ron, really!" Hermione's voice broke in, annoyance dominating above all else as Ron and Molly's voices drifted into the background, bickering quietly. "Now, Harry, Buffy, I apologize for sending this to you in a howler, but Ron was quite insistent that this would be the one letter that you would not ignore... not saying that you have been ignoring our other letters, just that.... well, we're worried about you. Everyone is, really."

"A note! A NOTE! You disappear and leave only a NOTE?!?"

"MUM!!!"

"As I was saying," Hermione's voice quickly cut in, "we're all quite worried. At first we just did as your note asked and let you two be to work out whatever it is that you needed to work out-"

"All alone and WITHOUT your friends, I might add. I mean, bloody hell, Harry-"

"-but that was over a month ago, and we haven't heard from you since," Hermione continued firmly. "All of the owls that we've sent have returned with the letters unopened - unable to find you, or so we're hoping. We're... we're really quite worried. We borrowed Hedwig from Sirius, hoping that she would be able to find-"

"I told Hermione that we should have asked Sirius for Hedwig AGES ago-"

"Which is beside the point. We just miss you both and want you to come home. It's been ages since we've talked and a lot has changed. I'm working with Giles for the Watcher's Council, doing research here in Muggle London. Ron and I even have our own flat in a wizarding neighborhood near the Weasley's-"

"Not that either of them asked for our approval, or even the approval of the Granger's before-"

"I've reopened Fred and George's joke shop in Diagon Alley!" Ron's voice cut in, his excitement evident. "Bill and Charlie each took a leave of absence from Gringott's and the dragons in order to help me get it going - for Fred and George. It's what they would have wanted. And Percy offered, but we told him that we'd curse him if he tried. I mean honestly, can you imagine Percy helping with the joke shop? Fred and George would be rolling over in their graves if they knew! Oh yeah - and Sirius said to tell you that he's going to hex you into next year if you don't contact him soon - and I'd be worried if I were you. He's back with the Aurors for the Ministry and he's promised me that he's already got a few nasty ones in mind."

"And I worry about him," Hermione continued, her voice growing somber. "He was doing alright at first, but the worry is slowly driving him mad. Not even Remus can quite get through to him - especially since even Dumbledore himself has been unable to locate you both. He's tried every spell that he can think of, and while at times he think he may be able to sense Harry, he keeps saying that something is getting in the way. Even Giles is starting to get frantic. He's been in touch with Buffy's friends in Sunnydale and they're all worried as well. They said that you were planning on heading there after our visit, but when you never showed up and didn't even send a note or anything... the only thing that everyone can seem to agree on is that this isn't like you. Either of you. Please... please be okay, and at least send word that you're both alright. We love you. Love, Hermione-"

"-and Ron-"

"-and Mrs. Weasley."

With the message complete, Harry barely had time to duck his head before the envelope erupted into a small ball of sparks that were blown away by the warm breeze. Soon, only a thick silence remained as his friends' pleas seemed to echo in his mind, seeming to fight with the haze that had enveloped his thoughts of them for so long. "That letter was written over a month ago," he finally murmured, a small frown pulling at his lips as he turned his green eyes to Buffy. "They must really be frantic by now. We... we should really send a letter back with Hedwig saying that we're alright."

Sighing, Buffy slowly turned away from Harry's pained expression, her own thoughts a tumultuous whirlwind in her own mind. "But... they said that they were alright. We just need to keep moving-"

"Why?"

Surprised, Buffy felt Harry's hands fall on her shoulders and force her to turn until she was meeting his clouded green eyes. "Why?" she murmured, realizing that this was the first time she had ever really considered the simple question. Why indeed? "Because... because we should keep moving," Buffy murmured, realizing for the first time how hollow those words sounded.

Shaking his head in muted frustration, Harry slowly released his hold on Buffy and allowed his gaze to drift over the expanse of sandy beach, the edges of their little hut hidden in the tropical forests barely visible in the distance. "We've only been here a few days and it's perfect - our own little island," he murmured, putting the question now to himself. After all, it wasn't as though he had seriously ever considered the small word either. Why? "Why do we need to go? We could stay here longer-" he trailed off even as Buffy slowly hugged her knees against her chest, slowly shaking her head.

"We need to keep moving," she insisted, her expression becoming haunted as she recognized the command in that simple statement. It was almost as though it had become a mantra for them in the past weeks... months... "Don't we?"

Frowning, Harry ran a frustrated hand through his wild hair, his eyes urgently searching out something that he couldn't see. "Something inside of me tells me that we need to keep moving.... but I don't know why."

"It feels like we're running... but from what?" Buffy asked, unsure of where to search for her answers - and never realizing that the answer was hidden deep inside of her. "We haven't stayed in the same place for more than two days in the last few months.... what's wrong with us?" she murmured, her haunted green eyes finally lifting to settle on Harry's face, just as distressed as her own. Even as a nameless fear, buried deep within herself, began to make itself known, she allowed herself to be caught up in Harry's familiar embrace - his presence somehow helping to keep the fear at bay. "Harry, I miss my friends - I miss them all. Willow and Xander are on the Hellmouth, but the very thought of Sunnydale makes me feel cold inside," she murmured, clinging to him as she hadn't done in months. "Why haven't we contacted anyone? They're so worried and... and they don't even know that Dumbledore was wrong," she whispered, finally pulling away to meet his green eyes as hers widened in a flash of horror. "Harry, we've known about your magic coming back, and my strength, for weeks now! You're still a wizard and I'm still a slayer and... and we've been hiding? Harry, I'm the slayer and it's my _duty_ to help people! I know that physically I'm not that much stronger than you are right now, and you have about the magical capabilities of David Copperfield, but that doesn't mean anything! I mean, Xander doesn't have anything and he's-"

"Buffy, I know," Harry interrupted, placing a slender finger against her lips even as a smile threatened his own. It had been a while since he'd witnessed a Buffy tirade, so very similar to a babbling Willow, or so Buffy had assured, that it almost helped to make things more clear in his mind. For the first time in what felt like ages, Harry felt as though his thoughts were finally clearing. "We need help and we're not going to get it here, or in any of the other places we've been traveling in. We need to go back."

"But we can't go back to the Hellmouth," Buffy quickly countered, a small frown pulling at her lips. "I know now that this feeling isn't my own, and even though I understand that I... I still can't do it. For some reason we really, really shouldn't be going to Sunnydale," she urged, frustrated by her inability to fully express her severe anxiety that the mere mention of her hometown brought about. "Not to mention the fact that we don't even know where Hermione and Ron live now - or even Giles or Sirius!"

"And we won't," Harry agreed, frowning thoughtfully as he slowly got to his feet, slipping into his sandals almost without conscious thought. "Go back to Sunnydale, that is," he clarified as he quickly pulled Buffy to her feet and together they set to work on picking up their things before turning back towards their little hut. "But we can't stay here any longer, and as you so aptly pointed out, I'm not magically strong enough yet to navigate us through the magical world, which means that Hogwarts is out of the question."

"You know who David Copperfield is?" Buffy returned, quirking an eyebrow at her boyfriend as she grinned mischievously.

"Buffy, I may be British but that certainly doesn't mean that I was raised in a box," Harry returned dryly. "It was a cupboard, really - quite spacious," he added, grinning impishly and dodging her light slap before turning serious once more. "But if we can't go to Sunnydale and can't very well make it to Hogwarts, where do we go? The Watcher's Council in London?"

"Yeah, but _where_ in London?" Buffy quickly returned. "I don't know about you, but it's not like I've ever been there before. And I really doubt that we'd be able to find it in the yellow pages."

"Well do you have any better ideas?" Harry quickly returned - and instantly wished that he hadn't.

In response Buffy merely leveled Harry with her brightest grin. "I know just the place," she stated, grinning mischievously. "And from what I've been told and what little I've seen, it's quite lovely. Maybe I can even show you my old room - iron manacles and all!" she chirped before disappearing into their little hut.

"Manacles?" Harry echoed, his tan seeming to disappear beneath a sheet of white. "Um... Buffy, we are clear on the fact that we want help, right?" he asked, his voice echoing up and down their little beach as he, too, disappeared into their little hut. After all, they had quite a bit of packing to do if they planned on catching the next boat out of there. Out of there and hopefully somewhere where they could finally find the answer to that one nagging question: why?

* * *

Fighting back a yawn, Willow made her way sleepily down the curving stairs and into the kitchen beyond, the intoxicating smell of pancakes and yummy sausages directing her stumbling feet. It had been a quiet night which should have meant more sleep, but with mid-terms quickly approaching, any possibility of an early night was quickly squashed beneath the heavy texts that she always had to drag to class. Then there was always the fact that when you shared a house, no matter how large, with two slayers, a watcher, a wiccan and a construction worker.... well, the possibility of _ever_ finding a good night's sleep was pretty rare.

"Morning, Will."

Fighting back another yawn, Willow lifted her eyes from her feet in time to avoid a collision with Xander, who was ladened down with dirty breakfast dishes and looking far more awake than anyone should possibly look this early in the morning - especially a Xander. Especially a well-dressed Xander, Willow noted with wide green eyes. Stopping fully in her tracks, the wiccan allowed her eyes to sweep across the lean figure of her childhood best friend. While the studying was pretty hard core last night, she was still fairly positive that today was a Wednesday, which _should_ have meant that Xander would be leaving to the construction site that he worked at - equating a wardrobe which usually consisted of a pair of old jeans and a shirt with more holes in it than not. Instead she couldn't keep her jaw from hitting the floor as she took in his neatly combed dark hair, his pressed suit, and the tie that dangled loosely around his neck."Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?" she finally demanded as she trailed sleepily after his lean form.

"Xander has his big interview this morning, remember?" Tara quickly intervened, smiling softly as she placed a large plateful of steaming pancakes on the large counter that ran the length of the spacious kitchen, motioning for Willow to take a seat and dig on in. At Willow's continued blank expression, Tara shared a brief smile with Xander as she wiped her hands on the ridiculously frilly apron that she was sporting. "He's interviewing for the foreman-"

"The Xand-Man's got an interview?" Faith interrupted as she sauntered in through the backdoor, the wan morning sunlight causing Willow to blink blearily once more as she accidentally stumbled away from the plate of food that she was aiming for. "And Glenda's got her groove on," the slayer quickly noted as she intercepted Willow's path for the pancakes and settled onto the vacant stool. Grinning cheekily in the face of Willow's indignant glare, the dark-haired slayer lit into Tara's creations with a relish. After all, it paid to have at least _one_ person in the house who was capable of making something outside of the Easy Mac that was found in abundance in the cupboards - and when that person felt in the mood to put her vast cooking talent to use, who was she to complain? Besides, this particular slayer needed some serious sustenance after the night she had.

"G-good morning, Faith," Tara quickly greeted, stammering slightly as she always did before the slayer, even as a pink blush stained her pale cheeks. After all, even though she had been immersed in the tight-knit circle of Willow's friends for so many months, there were a few among the small group that she still found herself unsure before - Faith being one of them. It wasn't as though she didn't like the slayer, or that she didn't trust her - it was more to the fact that she and Faith were so vastly different that at times it was difficult to find a common ground. Frowning briefly, the wiccan quickly went about making another plate before sliding the dish next to the slayer, smiling softly at Willow as the redhead practically fell onto the stool beside the dark-haired girl. "A-are you just getting back from patrol now?" she asked, her smile faltering slightly as Xander made a show of sniffing disdainfully at the leather-clad slayer.

"From the distinct scent of alcohol and smoke wafting in the morning breeze," he began as he bent to allow Willow access to his dark tie, the redhead automatically going to work on the stubborn knot, "I'd guess not."

"Hey, you never know where the danger's gonna-"

"And what danger did you stumble upon that leaves such a particularly foul odor, pray tell?" a heavily accented voice interrupted.

Rolling her eyes, Faith spared a quick glance to the impossibly slender and regal-looking man that was making his grand entrance into the kitchen, his gray suit as impeccable as always and every white hair on his head brushed until it gleamed. "Morning Bertie," she greeted dryly, watching as Willow practically spit out her mouthful of orange juice even as Xander openly snickered at the indignant flush that was even now coloring the older man's pale cheeks, his gray eyes narrowing as the small wrinkles creasing.

"Faith, s'il vous plait," a young girl's voice, just as equally sprinkled with the same French accent, quickly broke in on her watcher's behalf as the slender slayer made her way into the crowded kitchen. "Must we go through this every morning? You know very well that you are to refer to my watcher as Monsieur Bertrone, et c'est tout!"

Fighting back the sarcastic comment that was just waiting to be unleashed, Faith caught Tara's warning look and strove to swallow her attitude. Sometimes she really had to wonder what she'd been thinking when she had invited all of these strange people into her house. Oh, that's right. She obviously _hadn't_ been thinking. Either that, or B really did leave her mark from the brief time she took up residence in her head. And while it seemed that too many mornings started out this way, with the French watcher's disapproving reprimands and Faith's nasty retorts, the slayer couldn't help the saucy grin that she finally leveled at the slayer with the raven-dark hair - a battle with her attitude was one that she always lost anyway. Why should that morning be any different? "Don't worry, Kid, there's no doubt in my mind that Bertie's _your_ watcher-"

"A fact that I will be eternally grateful for-"

"But the fact remains," Faith continued, politely ignoring the French man's caustic words, "that as he's _your_ watcher, he can just back the hell off of me and my own."

Thoroughly incensed by the girl's perverse words, the old watcher drew himself up haughtily even as his young slayer lay a placating hand on his shoulder. Frowning, he allowed himself to be sidetracked by Celeste's pleading blue eyes - eyes that begged with him to just let the other girl go - a very familiar plea, by now. And in the end he did what he always did at such times, and that was to swallow his pride and follow his young slayer to the counter that passed as a table in this strange house in an even stranger country - and be grateful that the brass young woman _wasn't_ his charge. And also to ignore the almost overwhelming desire to take advantage of the Hellmouth's interference and hit the impudent young woman with the nastiest curse his days at Beauxbatons afforded him.

Forcing a small, reassuring smile for his slayer, Bertrone murmured his thanks to young Miss Maclay in thanks for the steaming cup of coffee that was placed before him - and quickly replaced Celeste's own coffee cup with a large glass of orange juice. After all, while the girl was already fourteen and now the newest, and oddly, for a time, the _third_ slayer, the fact remained that she had been in his charge for nigh on ten years - ten years of training and rearing in the proper ways of a Slayer, and after such a great length of time he was well familiar with the effects that the caffeine would have on her young system. No, orange juice was indeed far better suited for his young charge. "Non, Celeste, ne touche pas le cafe," he murmured, his voice soft and reproving.

"Oui, Monsieur Bertrone, je sais," Celeste quickly returned, her eyes dropping down to her lap as was expected - even as she heard Faith mutter a low oath beneath her breath - a curse so quiet that she knew none had heard save her. Sighing, the young slayer slowly shook her head at the older slayer's antics before politely accepting a plate of what the Americans deemed as breakfast, a small grimace pulling at her lips even as she turned bright eyes to the young people that she was slowly coming to know. "Last night was very exciting as I was able to slay three vampires," she stated proudly, unable to stop the grin that lifted her wide lips. "With Monsieur Bertrone's guidance, of course," she quickly amended with a warm smile at her watcher.

"Of course," Willow quickly agreed, trying and failing to hide her own snicker behind her hand as she finished working on Xander's tie. After all, the Scoobies came from a line of watcher that didn't just sit back and watch, as the newest slayer's watcher seemed so fond of doing, but of helping out when the occasion called for it.

"Celeste, that's wonderful!" Tara quickly added, smiling warmly at the younger girl even as Faith flashed the kid a genuine smile.

"Sounds like you had a busy night," Faith agreed, unwilling to point out that to her, killing three vamps on the Hellmouth was actually a slow night. Then again, for as much as she despised the Kid's watcher, she couldn't fault the kid herself. Once you got past the fierce protective streak that Celeste carried for the old Frenchman - a pretty common trait between slayers and watchers, or so she'd been told - the kid was pretty cool. She looked every bit of the fourteen years that she was, and while she lacked in the conviction to take on anything without her watcher's approval, the Kid certainly wasn't lacking in skills. From what little Celeste had told them, she had been taken from her family when she was only five, the Watcher's Council having located her as a potential slayer rather young, and raised by her watcher ever since. With ten years of training to be a slayer under the Kid's belt, she was a veritable fountain of useful information and skill - if she only had the confidence to use it on her own. And while Faith had been trying her best to get the kid to open up and live a little - well, it was certainly easier said than done with Bertie always watching her like a hawk. If B only would have made her appearance as she had promised close to two months ago, Faith was _sure_ that they would be able to get the job done. It didn't matter if Buffy wasn't the slayer anymore and was now lacking in the slayer-skills department. In Faith's mind, Buffy would always be a slayer - and seeing as how Celeste and Faith definitely fell on opposite ends of the slayer pole, that had to mean that Buffy was somewhere in the middle. Or not, for she seemed to remember more than a few 'Buffy Gone Wild' stories from back in the day - stories that could be helpful with causing the new girl to open up... but that of course required a Buffy.

Sighing, Faith quickly pushed away her cyclic train of thoughts and the worry that those thoughts always brought to mind. Two months was a long time to disappear for some snookie time with that boy of hers - a hell of a long time. Frowning, Faith stubbornly pushed her worries away and instead fished out the 'glow ball' that the security guard had given her the night before. "While not nearly as productive, I did manage to stumble over this," she offered, shrugging her shoulders lightly as she placed the glowing orb on the counter before her.

Immediately a hush seemed to fall over the room as everyone stopped what they were doing to take in the soft glow that emanated from the small ball. "So... what is it?" Xander finally asked as he gingerly prodded the sphere with one long finger, his curiosity piqued despite his best efforts to stay away from anything that could get him beaten, captured, or dead.... or used for impregnation by large insects.

"Beats me - although it was quite the hit at the party last night," Faith added with a small grin.

"You took the freaky Hellmouth ball out on the town with you?" Xander quickly returned before he could stop himself. "What, were you _trying_ to attract the badness?"

"Of course - that's what Slayer's are for," Faith returned in her best sugary-sweet smile before turning her attention back to the glowing orb, which was now in the hands of the slayer who sat beside her. The slayer who was studying the orb with a fierce concentration that was almost scary. After all, in Faith's very limited experience, such an expression belonged solely to the race of watcher and certainly, certainly not on a slayer's face. Or maybe that was just because neither she nor B had ever really been big with the books. Nope, that was definitely a watcher thing - or it should have been.

"Celeste?" Bertrone quickly prodded, a small frown pulling at his lips as he, too, took in his slayer's interest in the orb.

"I am sure that I have seen something like this before - an illustration, perhaps," Celeste murmured as she absently abandoned her untouched breakfast and began wandering to the stairs that would take her down into the book-infused confines of the basement. "Or not... something..." she murmured before disappearing from sight.

In the wake of her departure the silence stretched for another moment or so before the rest of the Scoobies dismissed the girl's actions and the strange ball with their usual Hellmouth indifference. "Right, so you ladies have a good, demon-free day," Xander quickly stated as he clapped his hands together, a bright smile lifting his lips, "while I go make with the niceties and try for the big bucks."

"You go... go knock their socks off!" Willow quickly offered as she smiled encouragingly at her best friend. "Show them what an Alexander Lavelle Harris is all-" she continued, her speech breaking off as she quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, horror evident in her wide eyes.

"Wait a minute - Lavelle?" Faith quickly interrupted as she turned large eyes towards a Xander who was now turning a very fetching shade of red. "Your middle name is Lavelle?" she repeated even as he began backing towards the door, his eyes practically glaring daggers in Willow's direction. "Did your parents hate you or something?"

"As a matter of fact, they did," Xander returned, daring the slayer to make something of it - before turning and practically fleeing through the backdoor and into the bright sunshine beyond, leaving the room once more in a state of thick silence - a silence that was broken by Faith's quiet snickering.

**To be continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 3"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: To start, my apologies for taking so long to get this chapter out to you all! But check out this dedication! I spent the morning finishing this chapter and readying it for post while JK Rowling's newest release sits so temptingly on the desk before me. Now that's what I call dedication. In any case, major, major kudos and many cookies to solarphoenix, AP, and Jo (and all of those who figured it out but your review was deleted) for figuring out that the third word is indeed in Sindarin (the primary Elvish language in LoTR). And while Amarth is indeed Sindarin for Doom, as many of you so cunningly found, it is also Sindarin for 'fate,' which only tigerlily guessed - although I don't think you even realized the Sindarin aspect! Thus, the title, en anglais, is "Sacrifice By Fate." Great detective work to all of you! And now, without further ado, I present to you Chapter 3 - and Harry Potter, here I come! ;p

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Sighing softly, Harry slowly arched his neck back and took in the imposing white building that soared into the sky above, jutting for what seemed like miles in either direction and fronting the chilly, crystalline blue water that lapped at the shoreline behind him. The building looked cold, impersonal, and un-like anything he had seen before - and very much _not_ like the kind of place he had been picturing when he and Buffy had decided, what felt like, days ago to go for help. Days of travel by boat, plane, and finally taxi - the last of which was only pulling away on the long, narrow private drive behind them. Frowning, Harry wearily lifted a hand and ran it through his tousled black hair, trying to smother it back into a semblance of order even as his green eyes sought out his petite companion. "Can you please tell me again what we're doing here?" he asked, his voice betraying his doubts even as he frowned at the soft plume his breath left in the cool fall air.

"The Watcher's Council owns the Centre now," Buffy murmured, her green eyes taking in the impressive building for the first time as she hoisted her large black duffel onto her small shoulders, wincing as the strap fell into the groove it seemed to have created during their travels. While it was technically true that she had spent over five months imprisoned in this same building, she had no memories of ever arriving or leaving by the massive doors that stood before her. In fact, she had no memory of the outside of the building at all. Instead, she was only left with the images, sounds, and smells of the many dank sublevels that the Centre stood upon - not to mention the cold that had haunted her for so long.

Startled, Harry turned towards the small slayer, absently taking her heavy bag from her even as he shouldered his own. "You never mentioned that before," Harry returned, frowning softly as he began to trail her up the many cement stairs that lifted to the heavy doors that fronted the massive structure.

Rolling her eyes at both the soft accusation in Harry's words, and the fact that he had taken her bag without even consciously realizing it, Buffy crested the last stair and stilled before the doors that seemed to tower over her slight frame. "Gee, sorry about that," she replied with a wry smile. "I guess that it seemed like such a small detail in comparison to the months of torture and brainwashing," she finished as Harry dropped the bags at their feet - one falling so close that she had to dance back to avoid having it land on her toes. And by the smile that seemed to dance around the corners of Harry's lips, Buffy was pretty sure that it had been done on purpose. "Anyway," she continued, pointedly ignoring his baiting as she pulled her long hair away from her neck and lifted it up in a quick twist, "I'm sure that they can help us out," she added as she slipped a slim white stick amongst the loose strands and pinning them in place.

"If only we can figure out how to get in," Harry added as he tugged ineffectively at the tightly sealed door. Frowning, he turned away and allowed his eyes to roam over the sun that was shining so brightly over the green expanse of lawn - the chill of fall only beginning to color the tree's leaves. "They shouldn't be closed yet, should they?" he asked, not entirely sure of how different the business practices of the United States were from Britain. After all, while this was his first trip to the States, he was still fairly confident that any normal business would be open in the middle of the afternoon on a Monday.

"No, they should be open," Buffy agreed as she studied the doors that, no matter how long she scrutinized them, continued to look quite impressive and very, very solid.

"Maybe they just don't like visitors," Harry suggested, trying his best to be helpful even as Buffy leveled one of her patented glares in his direction. Smiling innocently, Harry contented himself to watching the slayer as she eyed the door speculatively for a few seconds before finally taking note of the little white box that was inset to the stone off to the right.

"Ah ha!" she cried, smiling triumphantly at Harry who had the good graces to look suitably impressed with her find, even as the small slayer pushed the button affixed beneath the speakers.

Within seconds a very tinny-sounding woman's voice crackled through the intercom system. "Can I help you?" she asked in a way that managed to sound both irritated and severely annoyed at being disturbed.

Frowning, Buffy eyed the speaker a moment, slightly startled at the open hostility she could easily hear in the stranger's voice. "I'm here to see Jarod," she returned, sharing a bewildered glance with Harry.

"Do you have an appointment?"

Frown deepening, Buffy eyed the intercom with evident confusion. "No, I-"

"Jarod is a very busy man and the head of our Research Department," the woman quickly interrupted, her voice sounding even more frosty, if such a thing was possible. "You cannot simply push my button and expect to get in to see him."

For a moment, Buffy could only stare at the intercom in stunned silence. The woman's cold words and evident rudeness were so unexpected that for a moment, Buffy forgot how to speak - but only for a moment, and then it all came back. After all, being the slayer wasn't all about the speed to outmaneuver your enemies or the strength to crush your opponents. Oh no. The package also came with the ability to glare with the best of them and a sharp wit to rival any two-bit secretary... or maybe that was all Buffy. Regardless, after realizing only days ago that she was in a situation that she could neither understand nor fight, Buffy quickly found herself stepping up to the challenge of facing a foe that she _could_ fight - even if it was only a verbal battle. "Listen up," she quickly bit out, her eyes narrowing dangerously, "Jarod and I happen to be old friends and are very close-"

A very unlady-like snort quickly broke into Buffy's tirade. "You look awfully young to be an old friend of Jarod's," the woman responded dryly even as Buffy unconsciously began to fidget before the intercom, one hand reaching down to smooth her wrinkled charcoal pants even as the other picked at the long white jacket she wore over her thin sweater. "Besides, everyone knows that Jarod is seeing Miss Parker."

As Buffy began to flush as she realized the full implication of the woman's words, Harry quickly stepped beside her, his eyes narrowed as he studied the simple white box. He may have been raised in a muggle home just like any other muggle, but it wasn't as though living with the Dursley's had been enlightening and eager to show him how the muggle world worked around him - no matter how curious of a child he had been. And presently, there was one simple matter that was occupying his thoughts. "How would you know what she looks like?" he asked, a childhood born on the wings of war coloring his voice with a suspicion that he coveted to this day - unable to relinquish its hold.

"Sugar, you've been on my screen since the second that little cab of yours rolled through the gates," the woman returned dryly even as Harry turned, his green eyes searching out the elusive and quite hidden surveillance cameras that she hinted at.

"Well I don't care if I've been on your screen since we hit the states," Buffy quickly returned, her arms crossing stubbornly over her chest. "I want to see Jarod."

"Buzz off."

Features becoming pinched, Buffy angrily stalked towards the little device and glowered at it for all she was worth. "Listen, Lady, we've come a long way, we're tired, we're jet lagged, I'm cranky, and you're _ really_ starting to piss me off! _I want to see Jarod!_" 

"Well I don't care if you came straight from Timbuktu. You're not seeing Jarod without an appointment."

Releasing the breath that she had been holding, Buffy fought the practically overwhelming desire to get physical with the box in a very slayer-ish fashion and instead decided to try a new track. "Well if I can't get in to see Jarod, then I want to see Miss Parker."

In response, the woman's voice seemed to sigh through the connection. "Miss Parker is the head of the entire Centre. You can't just demand to see her. You need to have an appointment. So once more, do - you - have - an - appointment?"

Pasting a saccharine sweet smile on her full lips, Buffy slowly nodded her head. "I do."

"Your name?"

"Buffy Summers."

"Hold on," the woman's voice echoed back as Harry sighed loudly beside her.

"Do you really think that's going to work?" he asked, having abandoned his fruitless task of searching for cameras to rub wearily at the bridge of his nose, his wire-rimmed glasses dangling from one hand - an act that was so reminiscent of Giles that Buffy almost smiled. Almost.

"I don't see you coming up with anything better," Buffy returned sharply even as the intercom crackled back to life.

"I'm sorry," the woman responded, somehow managing to sound anything but. "I just checked Miss Parker's schedule and I don't seem to have you listed. I can't let you in."

Practically growling now, Buffy felt her hands clenching into fists that were so tight she was afraid she was going to draw blood. "Listen up! Either you open these doors or I'll open them for you!"

And in the face of a slayer's blinding anger the woman laughed - laughed in a way that no demon or other villain had ever dared to before. "I don't know what kind of places you generally frequent, but we are a reputable business and we don't just let any two-bit Britney Spears wannabe in off the street."

"_Britney Spears?!?_ I-"

"Excuse me," Harry quickly interrupted, flashing his most charming smile even as he lay a restraining hand on Buffy's shoulder. And even though she surged against him, her slayer strength was still so nominal that she could merely tug ineffectively at his iron hold. "Can I please make an appointment to speak with either Jarod or Miss Parker?"

And in the blink of an eye the woman's hostility was gone as her voice practically sang through the intercom. "Of course. When would you like to get in to see them?"

"As soon as possible," Harry returned, trying to block out Buffy's exasperated shrieks. "Today, perhaps?"

"I'm sorry, young man," the woman quickly returned, her voice sounding extremely apologetic, "but both Jarod and Miss Parker are out of the office for the day."

"WHAT?!?" Jerking her arm free of Harry's hold, Buffy quickly shoved him aside and stalked towards the intercom. "Why didn't you just say so in the first place?!"

"You never asked," the woman responded, her voice all smug and coated with ice.

In that moment, Buffy truly saw red. It wasn't that she was normally this impatient or so easy to get riled. In fact, for years Giles had worked with her to control her temper and to work on staying calm and collected in the face of an enemy. As her watcher had always stated, anger would only blind her and facing an opponent blind would only bring death - something that Buffy had never been eager for, no matter _how_ bad things got. Well, okay, for a time there she had been kind of looking forward to that as she stalked the streets of Sunnydale after her return from the Centre - looking for something to take it all away. But now? No, she was usually much more calm, collected and... well, more Buffy. But after months of running and not even realizing it, after learning that something was wrong and for once, not knowing how to fight it, and after endless hours and days of traveling to get here - well, Buffy was certainly on her last rope and the secretary was about to find out what a dangerous position that could be. Body tensing, Buffy felt her muscles coil as she prepared to spring and-

"Buffy, what are you doing?"

And as quickly as it had come, the red slowly drained away as Buffy turned away from the harmless little white box and allowed her green-eyed gaze to trail over the tall man that stood quietly on the steps behind she and Harry. His brown hair was a little shorter and spiked in every direction, and the dark jeans and light tee-shirt visible through his open leather jacket showed a body that was still toned to that of a man much younger than his years, but his eyes - his brown eyes were the feature that caught and held her own as they gazed at her in open confusion. "I was about to smash through this door and kick your secretary's ass," Buffy responded dryly as she allowed her muscles to relax and for the uncommon rage to seep away, a small smile lifting her lips as she nodded at the Pretender.

"And how exactly were you planning on getting through the door?" Harry asked, reminding her of his presence as his own eyes did a quick sweep over the stranger. "You're not strong enough," he added as his green eyes turned back to the small blonde that was currently glowering in his direction.

"Yeah, but I bet your head is," Buffy quickly countered as she crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest. In retrospect, she probably could have handled the situation a little differently, but then again- "Besides, it's not like you were exactly a ton of help."

Rolling his eyes, Harry slowly bent down and retrieved their bags. "And what was I supposed to do?" he asked as he tiredly lifted a bag to each aching shoulder. "Levitate a pineapple? You're right, maybe she has an acute fear of flying fruit-"

"Aviofructophobia," Jarod quickly cut in with a small smile as he broke in on their little argument, taking the larger of the two bags from the young man even as the lanky teen threw him a bewildered glance. "Aviofructophobio - the fear of flying fruit," Jarod explained with a small shrug.

"Oh." For a moment, Harry didn't know what to say in return to that as he threw a glance at Buffy, who merely shrugged in return. "I, uh... I guess that I didn't quite realize that there was actually such a thing."

"There probably isn't," Jarod agreed, his smile growing and causing a dimple to form in each cheek, small laugh lines appearing around his warm brown eyes. "But then again, you never can tell these days. And no, Janet doesn't suffer from it. She's just naturally mean," he added as he moved towards the large doors and quickly punched in a code on the keypad by the handle. "It's one of the reasons that Miss Parker hired her for the job," he continued as he led the way into the Centre, not missing the glare that Buffy threw in Janet's direction as they walked past. "After all, the Centre may no longer be owned by the Triumvirate, but we still have a lot of ongoing projects that could be dangerous if they fell in the wrong hands - especially since the Watcher's Council has started to send us some rather... interesting projects," he added, smiling enigmatically as his eyes swept over his two companions.

Buffy looked tan and as fit as ever, her charcoal slacks flattering her slim form and her golden hair bleached even lighter by the sun and pinned in a messy twist behind her head. But more than that, she looked tired. Dark circles seemed to circle her eyes and she carried herself as though weary, not only physically, but drawn down emotionally as well. He also couldn't help but notice the way that Buffy and her companion seemed to instinctively draw together as they walked through the wide halls of the Centre. Both seemed lost in a world that was populated only by each other - and as the young man wrapped him arm casually around Buffy's waist, the small slayer leaning into the gesture, it was obvious that they shared a familiarity that was born of much time together. Curious, Jarod allowed his gaze to sweep over the teen, not recognizing him from his forays into Sunnydale. He was tall and lean with messy black hair that seemed to shoot out in all directions. His clothes were simple: dark cords and a thin red sweater, topped by a short, black leather jacket. He carried himself confidently and with a grace that seemed almost athletic. But most of all, it was the piercing green eyes that were hidden behind a pair of thin, black-rimmed glasses that caught Jarod's eyes - and the way that they seemed to study every person that they passed with a suspicious glance - and the way they softened whenever they drifted to the small girl that leaned against him. In the end, despite the small war of words that he had witnessed on the front step minutes earlier, it was obvious that the two cared a great deal about each other - and that something was quite wrong.

"It's been awhile," Jarod commented, breaking the silence that had fallen over the trio as he led the way down a brightly lit hall in the Centre's upper reaches. "We haven't heard anything about or from you since you sent that letter with the returned guns," he added, hoping to lure the young woman into conversation. And when that proved ineffective, Jarod tried again. "Miss Parker and I were beginning to wonder if you'd pulled one of your disappearing acts once again," he added, his voice growing soft as Buffy finally seemed to draw away from her thoughts and smiled tiredly at the pretender.

"We've been traveling," Buffy returned, shrugging her small shoulders as Harry snorted beside her.

"Yeah, you could say that again," he agreed, unconsciously pulling Buffy closer against him. While Buffy seemed to relax further with each step they took, obviously completely comfortable and feeling quite safe in the man's presence, Harry found himself unable to let go. It was strange, because he knew that if Buffy trusted the man and this place, he should as well. On the other hand, the knowledge of what had been done to Buffy within these same walls, combined with the strange desire to simply grab Buffy around the waist, fling her over his shoulder, and to flee from this place and far away from anyone who knew them, was so powerful that he found himself fighting it with each step. The distrust and uneasiness because of what had been done to Buffy was understandable, but the other, more fierce emotion was so alien that only after his friends' howler was he able to see that it wasn't truly his own. Well, that wasn't true either. It was his own feelings, his own desires to keep Buffy safe, but it was the knowledge of _why_ he wanted to do this that was so frustrating. So frustrating because it just wasn't there. The only thing he had to go on was his intuition and his gut instinct - the gut instinct that was currently telling him that his best option was to just take Buffy and continue traveling and hiding. From what - well, once more that was the question.

Becoming even more curious at Buffy's vague answer, Jarod forced himself to respect her silence as he twisted the knob of the door beside him, leading the teens into the large, spacious room beyond.

Green eyes sweeping the large room, Buffy took in the modest and tasteful decor, the long leather couch and comfortable armchairs, and the massive mahogany desk and swivel chair that stood to the side. Not to mention the impressive bank of windows that looked out on the water that seemed to sparkle like jewels beneath the afternoon sun. "This is your office?" she asked, smiling as she took in the shelves of books that lined the back walls, the titles so varied that they hinted at subjects as diverse as medicine, law, hunting, sky diving, and ancient history all caught her eye - not to mention the few familiar tomes on demon lore and magic that practically jumped out at her.

"Yes, this is it," Jarod agreed as he followed Buffy's eyes with his own, a proud smile lifting his lips. It felt good to be able to show off a bit to someone who, like he, had experienced the worst that the Centre had to offer. "Broots, Sydney, and Miss Parker all have similar offices down the hall - even Angelo has his own space now."

"Angelo?"

"You don't remember him?" the pretender asked with a puzzled glance. "Miss Parker said that Angelo was the one that tipped her off about Lyle's dealings with you. If it wasn't for him, she probably never would have learned about what Lyle was up to."

Smiling wryly, Buffy slowly drifted over to the long leather couch and settled back onto the cool material with a small, grateful sigh. "I wasn't exactly yay me during my stay here... then again, this isn't quite what I expected, either," she admitted with a frown as Harry settled on the couch beside her, his long frame stretching out as his eyes slipped shut, a pleased smile pulling at his lips.

"Well, there've been a lot of changes since Miss Parker took over. It's not the same Centre that we both knew," Jarod offered with a small shrug as he settled his own long frame in a plush leather chair opposite of the teens.

Smiling, Buffy batted her anxiety away as she eyed her friend. "You look happy."

"I am," Jarod agreed, his smile mirroring Buffy's own as his thoughts slipped to all of his good fortunes. His life was his own now and he was nobody's property. He was a man who had parents who loved him, a beautiful little sister, and a brother that he even shared with the woman he loved. It was a strange family, but one that he wouldn't trade for the world. When you added to that a man that he had always thought of as both a father and a mentor, and another man that was a friend even when they were enemies... well, his life was truly complete. He was doing what he did best, using his natural gift as a Pretender to help those that needed helping. And this time, he did his work for people he trusted and he knew that his gifts weren't being misused. It was everything that he had ever hoped for and more - and it was due in large part to the small girl that sat opposite of him. The girl that, despite her warm smile, seemed to radiate so much confusion and fear that it was impossible for someone as sensitive to those around him _not_ to notice. "And you look troubled," he finally stated, bringing his observations to the table and giving her the opening to tell him what was really going on.

Sighing, Buffy felt all of her worries come crashing down with Jarod's simple words. "I am," she admitted with a small, ghost of a smile as she reached out and took Harry's larger hand into her own, his green eyes blinking open and focusing on her. "Jarod, I'd like you to meet Harry Potter," she murmured, her smile becoming more genuine as Harry took his cue and sat forward, clasping hands with Jarod even as the pretender's eyes grew wide, brown eyes sweeping over him with a new intensity.

"_The_ Harry Potter?" Jarod questioned, his curiosity piqued.

Rolling his eyes, Harry automatically rubbed a hand against the lightning-shaped scar that was hidden beneath his tousled hair. "You never mentioned that he was a wizard," he murmured, throwing Buffy a tired smile.

"I'm not," Jarod quickly countered as he sat back in his chair, his elbows resting on either arm rest and his fingers steepled before his chin. "But I've been doing some research about your world since receiving Buffy's letter, and she _did_ give us a pretty extensive run down of her time in England. Plus, you were mentioned... a few times," he said, grinning innocently as Buffy blushed at his words.

Smiling softly, Harry turned to the small girl sitting so comfortably beside him. "You mentioned me?"

"Just the important stuff - like how I was going to work on your fashion sense," Buffy returned, smiling innocently at him as her eyes took in the clothes that suited him so well. "I couldn't very well be seen around the world with a guy dressed in black dresses, now could I? Besides, look at all that I've accomplished in the past few months! You could pass for a muggle!"

"Robes, Buffy, they were robes," Harry returned with a resigned shake of his head. "And besides, if I must dress like a muggle while in the muggle world, that means that you must return the favor and dress as a witch the next time we pay the wizarding world a visit. I think that some of the older witches and wizards were quite scandalized by your... dress..." he murmured, his voice trailing off into a thick silence. For a moment, their light-hearted bantering distracted them both from the reason of their visit, but all too quickly their mirth was forgotten as the simple mention of the wizarding world brought to mind all that they had forsaken and all that they had lost. And what they had regained only to keep it hidden from those that they loved most.

Sensing the change in mood, Jarod slowly frowned as he allowed his eyes to drift from one teen to the other. "I take it, then, that this isn't a social call."

"Unfortunately, no," Buffy agreed as she shared a knowing glance with Harry. "We need to get a hold of Giles and Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, and... and we'd rather keep Sunnydale out of this one," she admitted as she felt Harry's hand tighten around her own. "At least until we find out more. And since I sincerely doubt that Angel's number can be found in the white pages, we figured that you were our best bet," she added, forcing a small smile as Jarod stared worriedly at the two.

It was obvious that they were both leaving a lot unsaid - a whole lot, from the looks of it - but for the moment, none of that mattered. "The Council keeps a pretty tight ship," Jarod murmured thoughtfully as he abandoned his chair to move around his large desk, one hand reaching for the phone even as he booted up his computer with the other. "Then again, I'm sure sure that they must have a database with all of that information listed somewhere - and if it's on a computer, between Broots and I, we can get it in no time."

Smiling, Buffy followed Jarod around his desk and pushed his phone away long enough to give him a warm hug. "Thank you," she murmured, smiling as she felt one of his strong arms wrap around her small waist. "I know that it seems like I only drop by when I need a favor," she added as she pulled away, one hand reaching up to cup his smooth cheek. "Sorry about that."

Grinning, Jarod lifted his hand until he captured her small digits in his own. "If it weren't for you, I'd still be running from the Centre," he returned, squeezing her hand gently before releasing it and turning back to the phone, punching in the familiar extension. "Trust me when I say that it's the least that I can do," he added as Buffy nodded once before returning to her seat beside Harry, just as the other line was finally picked up. "Broots? I have a new project for us..."

* * *

Muttering softly to himself, the aged man worked trembling fingers through the thin, almost translucent pages of the heavy book that rest on the hard cement floor beneath him. The past few months had aged him far, far beyond his years and now he looked more the part of a brittle old man than the wizened leader of his brethren that he had been earlier in the fading summer. Just as the warm summer months had drawn to a close to make way for the bitter, chill air of winter, so had his hope and energy waned as his brethren had fallen at his heels. Now, only he remained to carry on the vigilance. 

The time was drawing near and yet the appointed time couldn't come soon enough. He and his brothers had planned on carrying their secrets until the time had passed and when they could be free - either that, or bring them to their grave. But now he was alone and knew with a sick certainty that he couldn't hold out - not much longer. Instead, he had to find the other two. They hadn't planned on involving them, but someone had to know his secret. Someone had to carry on the knowledge and keep it safe. Keep her safe. And so, in the end, his travels had brought him to the one place that he and his brethren had fought so hard to avoid. 

Valiantly. 

Bitterly.

And all to no avail. He was standing near the mouth to Hell and far too close to the appointed place for comfort. They were here and they would find him. He had led them far away from the treasure that they sought, had led them for many months - but now the chase was over.

Suddenly, his wandering mind snapped back into focus as one trembling finger stilled on a single entry in the long list of information that was stored in this great book. 

**EUSTICE P** 383 Elmwood Dr Sunnydale. . . . . . . . .** 385-1526  
EVANS Andrew & Cheryl** 1A Oak St Sunnydale. . . **385-7854  
Bob & Cathy** 383-C Archer Ave Sunnydale. . . . ** 385-6489  
Faith** 2335 Sunset Ave Sunnydale. . . . . . . . . . **385-3829**

Heaving a sigh of relief that his long search was finally over, the monk quickly memorized the address listed and flipped the book shut. With slow, tired movements he pulled himself to his aching feet, brown eyes sweeping over the large, abandoned floor of the warehouse that he had called home for days now. The Dagon Sphere was gone, and with it his only protection. He could only hope that it would help those that had found it more than it had ever helped he or his brethren.

With that thought to guide him, the monk slowly began making his way across the large expanse, his eyes locked on the large steel door that allowed admittance to the high floor - and froze as something pounded on the door from the other side. Too late. He was too late. Swallowing his fear, the monk slowly began backing away, his eyes trained on the door that was beginning to buckle beneath the onslaught. "The Beasts," he murmured in his native tongue, eyes desperately searching for another way. But there was no other way, which was exactly why he had chosen this place to be his refuge. Only one way in and only one way out.

Heart hammering against his chest, the monk could do nothing but watch in fascinated horror as the steel door was pounded right off of its hinges, the heavy metal crashing to the floor in an explosion of dust. Gasping, the man staggered back a few steps as he struggled to find clean air, eyes lifting to take in the two forms that stood silhouetted before him. They were as beautiful as they were deadly, the man tall and slender with hair the color of midnight that framed his face in short curls and eyes the color of deep violet, the woman just as tall and slender with hair the color of fire, lush and long and curly against her fair, porcelain-like skin and eyes the gray hue of a misty morning. Oh, they were indeed glorious to look upon - until one looked into their cold, hard eyes. There was nothing human in their gaze and it instantly chilled the monk to the core.

"There you are," the man called out, his voice deep and beautiful.

"We've been looking all over for you," the woman added, her own voice as melodious as his, both a wonder to listen to. And both edged in steel - a steel that would be his undoing.

**To be continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 4"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Author's Note: To start, I promise that no spoilers for the fifth book in the Harry Potter series will be found within. I find spoilers to be one of my greatest pet peeves and I've steered clear of the internet as a whole this past week in order to avoid them as I tore through the fifth book. Although, after having finished the book that has finally answered so many questions and changed so many things... well, this story has officially gone AU in the HP verse. Very, very much so AU. And to be honest, I wouldn't have it any other way... *sniff*

* * *

Sighing, Giles wearily put the kettle on to boil even as the murmured words of his guests drifted in from the room beyond. Two months. It had been nearly two months since Buffy and Harry had disappeared without word. Two months of dead ends, false leads, and hopeless searches that always seemed to come up empty. Two months of fruitless internet searches and computer leads that led nowhere, and two months of magical spells and ancient rites that either failed completely or were somehow blocked. Two months of silence - a silence that was beginning to tell on everyone.

It had taken two weeks for anyone to truly get worried. That Buffy and Harry weren't waiting for Ron and Hermione in Switzerland as planned was disquieting. That they never arrived in Sunnydale a week later, as previously scheduled, was downright disturbing. And in those two weeks, whatever leads there might have been were long since cold and devoid of any hope. In those two weeks both Buffy and Harry's bank accounts had been emptied and of either, no more had been heard. It had taken another two weeks of frantic searching before Willow finally admitted to defeat in tracking them through the computer. He knew that she still checked on a daily basis, but outside of that, there was nothing more to be done on that end. In those same two weeks the Ministry of Magic called off its official search for the two teens that had become national heroes to Great Britain and wizarding communities around the globe for the defeat of the Dark Lord. Likewise, the Watcher's Council also called off their official search, as well as the U.S. Government. After two weeks, the official opinion was that Giles' former-slayer and Sirius' only godson were dead, and for those that didn't know them, little thought was given to the two children that had gone missing, little more than orphans that were now seen legally as adults. To those that loved them, however, such a view was never going to be accepted until the bodies were found. And thus, the search continued. However... after two months, even Giles was beginning to find the will to continue the hunt more exhausting than ever. In a strange way, it reminded him of the time that Buffy had disappeared after his second year of being her watcher, after she had sent Angel to hell... only then he at least had the comfort of knowing that Buffy had her slayer strength to protect her. Now, she truly had nothing and was with a boy who had nothing. Neither of which helped Giles' state of mind.

"So what makes this spell different from any of the others that Dumbledore has tried?" Sirius asked as Giles finally abandoned his dark thoughts and stepped back into his brightly lit living room.

"Different spell, different factors - you know this, Sirius," Remus admonished lightly, his tired gray eyes seeming even more so this evening as he lounged in a worn armchair beside the warm fire. "Dumbledore is quite convinced that whatever has been blocking his attempts is _not_ the fidelius charm - which means that the right spell may just overcome it. It's just a matter of finding that spell."

"And this one?" Giles asked as he settled his long frame into a matching armchair, his tired green eyes landing on the Hogwarts professor.

"A very powerful, old spell that he was able to dig up somewhere. It requires someone to act as a link to Harry and Buffy-"

"Thus why we need to be there," Sirius sighed, sharing a frustrated look with Giles. It wasn't as though he begrudged an opportunity to locate his godson - instead, after working a full day in the demanding field of the Auror division of the Ministry of Magic, followed by chasing whatever slim lead he and Giles had managed to dig up during whatever spare moment they could find in the day, the energy that was required to partake in yet another powerful, ancient spell that never seemed to work in finding his lost godson only meant another large portion of energy that was wasted.

"Yes, although Dumbledore asked me to warn you that this one brushes rather closely with the Dark Arts," Remus added, frowning softly as both men seemed to share yet another dark glance.

"Then Dumbledore's truly getting desperate," Giles murmured, absently speaking his dark thoughts aloud. Sighing bitterly, the watcher pushed himself from the depths of his chair and began moving back towards the kitchen and the tea that he was supposed to be brewing - and froze as a sharp chirping echoed shrilly in the small room. Even as the two wizards jumped and drew their wands, Giles was already waving them away as he hurried to his forgotten jacket and retrieved his cell phone from one of the deep pockets. "Hello?" he asked, fully expecting to hear either Willow's young voice, or Xander's deeper baritone. After all, they were the sole reason that he had the blasted thing - all upon Willow's insistence - and the only people that had the number. Which explained his immense surprise when he heard neither.

"Giles? It's Jarod."

For a moment, Giles' mind went blank as he quickly connected the voice to the face that he hadn't seen in so long - not since he and the others had stopped briefly at the Centre enroute to Hogwarts. The night that Buffy and Harry each lost so much to the fight against Lord Voldemort. The night that he lost his Slayer. "Jarod? How did you get this number?" he asked, his confusion mirroring his companions as both Remus and Sirius looked at him as though he were quite mad.

"Why is he talking to a box?" Sirius whispered, concern warring with the humor of the strange sight.

"A muggle device, I believe," Remus shrugged in response, vaguely recalling Hermione using a similar object a few weeks back. "Something called a 'seller phone.'"

"The Council database," Jarod returned after a brief pause, completely oblivious to the fact that there were two conversations taking place at once. "And don't ask," he added, forestalling the inevitable question of how Jarod had managed to get into aforementioned database. "Listen, Buffy asked me to-"

"Buffy?" Giles quickly interrupted, everything falling deathly silent around him as the watcher pressed the phone tight against his ear, as if such an action would cause his missing ward to somehow appear magically before him. "Jarod, you've heard from Buffy? When? Where is she?" he demanded as both Sirius and Remus drew closer, their faces locked into nearly identical unreadable masks.

"She's.. she's sitting right beside me," Jarod murmured slowly, obviously confused at Giles' excited words.

"Thank God," Giles murmured, his eyes closing briefly in relief. "She's with Jarod," he added, directing his words to his companions and forgetting the fact that neither of the wizards beside him had ever even _heard_ of Jarod.

"What about Harry? Does he know where Harry is?" Sirius quickly pressed, desperate to hear whatever Giles heard so that he could learn news about his godson - any news, by this point.

"Here as well," Jarod confirmed, the question carrying through the clear line and responding before Giles could ask.

"There as well," Giles relayed, watching as Sirius leaned heavily against Remus, his eyes closed in evident relief. "Where are you?" Giles continued, quickly pushing his nearly overwhelming emotions to the side to be dealt with later.

"In my office at the Centre-"

"Hold on a second," Giles muttered and then quickly pulled the phone away, finally giving the two wizards his full attention. "They're at the Centre, a Council-owned corporation in the States - with friends," he explained, stumbling over his words even as he tried to process the distance and the nearly overwhelming desire to be there right then.

"It's too far to apparate," Remus murmured, obviously thinking along the same lines as the watcher.

"I don't even know where it is - I'd have to study a map in detail before I could even think of trying-"

"It doesn't matter," Giles quickly interrupted, throwing Sirius an apologetic glance. "I overheard Samuel mention that when they took over the Centre, they made it both unplottable as well as they put up heavy anti-apparation wards all over the building. They wanted to make sure that it was a difficult place to find for those who didn't belong there."

"Portkey?" Remus asked, frantically racking his brain for a solution.

"It would take far too long to get one made," Sirius quickly countered, his steely blue eyes showing that already this was taking far too long.

"Jarod, do you have a fireplace anywhere in the building?" Giles quickly asked, turning away from his companions once more.

"I.. I believe that there's one in Miss Parker's office," Jarod returned after a moment's hesitation.

"Can you have someone meet us there in a few minutes?" he pressed, watching as Remus and Sirius exchanged a quick glance before Sirius hurried to the fireplace, snatching a pinch of powder from a jar on the mantle and calling someone through the flames.

"Of course-"

"We're on our way," Giles quickly stated, snapping the small phone shut and jamming it in his pocket before sliding into the dark overcoat.

"Floo powder?" Remus asked, unnecessarily, as he gathered his dark cloak and threw it over his shoulders.

"Yes - can Sirius swing it?" he returned as he threw a glance to the pretty woman's head that now bobbed in his fire.

"He's working on it," Remus shrugged as he snagged Sirius' cloak and thrust it into Giles' hands. "I'll go to Hogwarts and alert Dumbledore and the rest of the staff. They can start sending out the word that they've been located and can call off the search - I'll be a few minutes behind you," he quickly stated, pausing long enough to wait for Giles' nod before disappearing with a soft pop of displaced air.

Turning, Giles crossed his small living room just as the woman's head disappeared. "Well?"

"I called in a favor with Meranshelly in the Department of Magical Transportation, a member of the Floo Regulation Panel," Sirius returned with a cheeky grin. "She just hooked up their fireplace to the Floo Network."

"Then let's go," Giles returned, his words coming in a breathless rush as he quickly snatched the jar of floo powder from the mantle and allowed Sirius to take a small pinch before taking one of his own. And then as Sirius disappeared in a flash of green flames, Giles took one last look around his empty apartment - a small flat in London that Buffy had never seen. The small flat that contained a small bedroom filled with Buffy's belongings - a room that he planned on offering to her as a place to always call home, no matter where her destiny took her. And a room that he had been beginning to fear that she would never see. After so many months of uncertainty and fear, it was too much for his mind to fully understand that now, his slayer only stood a continent and a simple fireplace away. 

A small smile pulling at his lips, Giles tore his eyes away from the small apartment and stepped into the roaring flames and then disappeared in a flash of green light.

* * *

Pain. Blinding, burning, agonizing pain. For minutes, hours, and perhaps even days, the monk's life had known nothing save the pain that seemed to radiate from his battered figure. The abominations had been given several centuries on their world - centuries to perfect their already impressive knowledge of the art of torture. And perfect it they had. From the burning pain that inhibited his breathing, the man knew at least one of his ribs had been broken as they had vented their cold anger, his leg bent at an impossible angle and then bound unmercifully to the straight leg of the chair he was secured to, the blood coating his skin and dripping from his broken eyebrow and into his swollen eye. Yet throughout the threats, the beatings, and the torture, the only thing he had given the beasts were his screams. And that knowledge, the knowledge that he hadn't betrayed his brethren or the secret that he harbored... that was enough to help silence the pain and give a small bit of peace to his thundering heart.

"You and your brothers have been running for a long time."

Moaning softly, the monk slowly lifted his battered head, bleak brown eyes vainly trying to see through the curtain of blood and into the cold, violet eyes of the beast that paraded himself as a man.

"But you can't run any longer," the beast added, his cold voice filled with a bored indifference as he slowly circled the bound monk, the soft rapport of his shoes drowning out the man's wheezed breaths.

"Where are the rest of your brothers?" the other beast continued, her soft, melodious voice filled with such concern as she knelt before the monk, two perfect, slender hands lifting to cup the monk's bruised cheeks between them. Forcing his gaze to lock with her own, she smiled in a way that seemed to promise so much - yet in reality would give nothing.

It was the smile, more than anything else, that finally prompted the monk to utter his first words to the two foul beasts. To see them parade before him in the costume of his own kind, looking so perfectly sculpted and beautiful in a way that only Hollywood's finest plastic surgeons could imitate, and yet demonstrating nothing but their cold brutality - it was all finally too great of an injustice to his poor, battered mind. "Dead," he muttered, his words drifting in his broken, heavily accented English. "Our secret... has been taken... to their graves," he added, finding strength from the anger that seemed to blaze forth from the beast's empty, gray eyes. "You can learn _nothing_ from them now!" he hissed, pink spittle flying from his bloody lips and splattering the filmy white blouse the beast wore, red flecks dotting her porcelain skin.

And while the other beast fumed behind her, his muttered words echoing in the empty factory as was his wont, she opened her lips - the same red as her gloriously long, red curly hair - and allowed a delighted, melodious laugh to fall from her and ring around the grimy building. "Oh my brave, brave mortal man," she whispered, a slow, sensuous smile lifting those perfectly sculpted lips as she gracefully stood before the battered monk. "All we want is the key," she murmured as she slowly moved around his chair and then bent over his shoulder, her hair falling as a curtain before his face - a curtain of red that hid them from the world. "We don't want to be in this world anymore than you want us here," she whispered, her gray eyes locked with his own as her pale hands gently caressed his bruised cheek. "Once we get the key we will leave this world forever. Really, you're doing more harm to your world by keeping us here. Think of the thousands that have died because your brotherhood refused to give us the one thing that we need to leave here. You know of what I speak," she murmured, her lips drawing closer until they brushed against his mangled ear. "You know of how we survive in this world," she whispered, her words a soft fan of air against his battered appendage even as she tilted back, the curtain of hair parting and allowing the monk an uninterrupted view of the festivities.

With narrowed, sorrowing eyes the monk could only watch as the other beast followed her cue, moving gracefully to the bound security guard that lay almost forgotten against the wall before them.

"P-please Mister!" the man gasped, struggling against his obvious fear as his nervous eyes darted between the man who couldn't have been more than five or six years older than the dark-haired girl he had met just the other night. "I-I-I got a family at home. I'm married! I-I h-h-have two daughters," he stammered, his eye turning to the beautiful young woman who watched passively beside the beaten man. "Please!" he gasped, one final plea falling upon deaf ears even as the young man knelt before him - and then jammed his fingers into the guard's temples in a flare of bright light.

Moments later the process was finished as the beast slowly backed away, a pleased smile lifting his full lips as the guard began to babble incoherently. A single tear falling from his swollen eye, the monk sadly turned away and allowed his brown eyes to settle on the other beast's face once more. Oh, she truly was glorious and the monk was unsure if he could have found a more beautiful sight to be his last.

"You could stop this if you would only allow us to go home," she murmured, her smile so sincere that the monk knew that she had spent centuries perfecting it.

"W-w-we have hidden the key," the monk whispered, his voice choked with hatred and fear, "in a place where... where you will _never find it!_"

Instantly the mask was dropped as the beast stood angrily before him. "Oh, we will," she murmured, her words as cold as ice. "Whether it is with, or without your aid," she added before withdrawing her fist and hitting him so hard that darkness instantly rose up to greet him.

* * *

With a loud whoosh of green flames, the cold fireplace came to life and sent Sirius spinning from its depths and into the bright room beyond - and straight into the long form of another person, sending them both to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. Grunting as the air was driven from his body, Sirius lay still for a moment, struggling to draw air once more into his starving body as blue eyes slowly fluttered open and took in the room that he had been deposited into. It was obviously an office of some sort, but unlike any that he had seen before. The room was cavernous and filled with potted green plants, sleek leather chairs, and strange muggle paintings that seemed frozen in whatever tasks the artists had captured them in. Most of all, there wasn't a torch or candle in sight. Frowning, Sirius was about to continue his survey when a soft, feminine groan echoed up from beneath him - which was of course when his addled mind finally registered the fact that the ground was altogether far to soft and lumpy to truly be the ground.

Head tilting down, Sirius met the cold, brown eyes of the woman lying beneath him, her painted lips a thin, fierce and unforgiving line as she scowled up at him. Flushing under her harsh glare, Sirius quickly pushed himself to his feet, scuttling back a few meters as the woman slowly stood opposite of him, her eyes never leaving his even as she pulled down the hem of her extremely short, tight skirt that seemed to be made out of some sort of snake skin. Eyes widening, Sirius couldn't help himself as his eyes traveled up her impossibly long, sleek legs, over curvaceous hips, around a slim waist and ample cleavage hidden behind a pale, silk shirt, and up the long, graceful neck that led to the most sensuous lips, dark hair perfectly coiffed around pale features - pale features that were marred by dark soot. Now that he thought about it, she seemed to be liberally covered in the grimy substance. "Who are you?" he blurted, wide eyes wondering where in the hell he had landed himself and unable to tear his eyes away from the very beautiful woman that he had throttled in his landing.

"You're the one that just came tearing out of my fireplace," the woman quickly snapped back in her cold American accent, brown eyes narrowing into thin slits as she fruitlessly attempted to brush away the dark soot that stained her blouse. "Who in the hell are you?" she bit out, eyes lifting to take in the strange man. And as she took note of the unstylishly long, black hair and the grimy black robes that billowed around the man's slim form, she found her mouth tightening into a thin, disapproving line.

"Sirius Black," the wizard quickly returned, smiling charmingly despite himself - only to have the smile wiped from his face as the fireplace came to life once more behind him, ejecting Giles with a loud belch that sent the watcher careening into Sirius' back - and straight into the beautiful, but cold-looking woman once more. In yet another tangle of limbs, all three hit the hard, marble floor and remained there in a pile of groaning and bruised flesh.

This time Giles was the first to recover as he slowly, and quite painfully, regained his feet and allowed his eyes to sweep impassively over the room before falling upon the woman that was busy shoving Sirius off of her. "Miss Parker!" Giles gasped, the color leaking from his face as he shoved Sirius to the side and scurried forward, desperately trying to help the woman to her feet - only to be shoved back in turn as Miss Parker struggled once more to adjust her rumpled and now very dirty clothing.

Nearly seething by this point, Miss Parker pointedly ignored Giles' attempts to help and angrily tugged at her ruined clothing. "Jarod - I'm going to kill him," she hissed beneath her breath, old habits dying hard as she automatically assumed that Jarod somehow knew that this was going to happen. After all, she had only arrived back in the office, on her day off, no less, in time to be met with the rather strange request to wait in her office for the arrival of some guests. And even though it seemed that magic was to blame, she couldn't help the sneaking suspicion that Jarod somehow knew this was going to happen. After all, Jarod was a Pretender - a genius - and it was a rare thing indeed when the pretender was left in the dark. No, that, unfortunately, was usually left to her.

"Here, I got it," Giles quickly murmured as he lifted his wand and cast a simple cleansing charm, causing the soot and wrinkles to disappear in a flash of smoke - a light haze of smoke that caused Miss Parker to break into a choking cough. Wincing, Giles shared a brief look with Sirius, who merely shrugged his shoulders in return, and then turned his attention back to Miss Parker, who seemed torn between screaming in vexation or offering thanks for the return of her immaculate clothing. In the end, she settled of a fierce scowl that Giles immediately recognized from the few times they had met and the little time they had spent together close to a year ago. "Buffy's here?" he asked, finally succeeding in pushing the old memories away and asking about the thought that always seemed to hover at the edges of his conscious mind.

"And Harry?" Sirius quickly added, his earlier mirth forgotten beneath a cold wave as he drew himself tall, his blue eyes boring into her brown. "Are they okay? What happened? Do you know where they've been?" he asked, question after question falling from his lips as Miss Parker turned away and beckoned for them to follow her towards the door.

"Listen, I just got here," she quickly countered, waving away his questions as she slipped from her office, turning off the lights as she went. "Today is supposed to be my day off," she added, frowning as she indicated the door that stood just a few feet down.

And as the trio came up to the heavy wood Giles paused outside, his hand freezing on the knob as Buffy's unmistakable voice filtered through the wood. 

"So... what's the what with you and Miss P and the inter-office smooching?" 

"Why would you think that there was any... 'inter-office smooching' between myself and Miss Parker?" Jarod's muffled voice questioned back, causing Miss Parker to smile faintly from beside the two men.

"My good friend Janet let it slip when we were out front," Buffy returned. "Not that I'm surprised, or anything. I mean, that whole 'grr I'm going to kill you' routine is so classic 'take me I'm yours, please come jump my bones.' It's so obvious and completely overdone these days."

"But Buffy, we never tried to kill each other," Harry's voice argued back, causing Sirius to stiffen beside him.

"That's because you're too much of an English gentleman for that. In the states we play a whole new kind of dating game."

"Which means that you really had a thing for Remus and Sirius all that time? And if that's true, I hate to even think of what that theory means for Lord Voldemort and every other strange, slimy demon that you've ever..." Harry's voice trailed away as Giles finally turned the knob and stepped into the large room.

Instantly the watcher's eyes drifted over the pretender who lounged on a leather chair off to one side, past Broots, the thin computer technician who was trying to make a subtle exit even as he glanced over him, and then landed upon the two teens who quickly stood from the dark leather couch they had been sitting upon. More importantly, his eyes latched upon the petite blond who stood beside Harry, a small, tremulous smile lifting her lips. "Buffy," he whispered, his eyes drinking in her form from the cuffs of her charcoal pants to the tips of her shining blond head. Without even realizing that he was in motion, Giles crossed the large room in a few long strides and gathered the young woman into his arms, practically crushing her against him as he bent his head and pressed his face against the soft crown of her hair, breathing in the scent that belonged wholly to his slayer. For a few, precious minutes Giles clung to her, relishing in the feel of her small body cradled in his own embrace - a feeling that he had begun to fear he would never be allowed to experience again. But then, all too soon, the moment was shattered as he vaguely became aware of her muffled sounds of protest and pleas for oxygen.

Pulling away, Giles slid his hands up until they were firmly clasped around Buffy's small shoulders, his eyes never leaving her own as they took in her tanned features, small smile, and the dark smudges that were found beneath each green eye. "Buffy," he whispered, his voice coming out more as a strangled croak as he rapidly fought to control his emotions. "How.. why... where have you _been_?!" he finally demanded, pushing all other questions aside and settling on the one. But even as he finished voicing one question, he finally became aware of Sirius and Harry, both locked in a similar embrace beside him.

"Do you have any idea how worried we all have been?!" Sirius demanded, his blue eyes locked on his godson. "What were you _thinking_?!"

"How could you just disappear off the face of the planet like that?!" Giles continued, as though finishing Sirius' thoughts.

"No phone call-"

"No owls-"

"Just vanished!" Giles finished as Buffy and Harry both shared small, knowing smiles. Smiles that weren't lost on either guardian as their anger automatically seemed to intensify - months of sleepless nights troubled by haunting nightmares, their every waking hour filled with horrible images of what could have happened to the young adults that they had come to cherish - all built up until the point where the coming explosion was unavoidable. In the ensuing chaos, the questions continued - some whispered, some yelled - but all running over each other and never allowing time for a proper response. In the end, both Buffy and Harry gave up trying to answer and instead just allowed themselves to be held, trying to recapture some sense of the safety that had always been felt in such an embrace. And both failing. Instead, they merely held on for an interminable time and until the questions stopped and a heavy silence fell upon the room.

Sighing softly, Harry was the first to break the heavy silence as he finally pulled away from his godfather's embrace, green eyes meeting blue and feeling more weary than ever before as he took in the concern, pain, and anger that radiated in Sirius' serious blue gaze, all the while desperately trying to sort through his jumbled feelings. On one hand he was excited to see Sirius again as four months was far, far too long of a time to go without seeing his guardian - especially after having spent the first thirteen years of his life as unwanted baggage to his relatives. On the other hand was the almost overwhelming desire to flee before it was too late. The latter feeling, the one that confused him the most, was fortunately one that he was quickly learning to master. It was just the unknown reason of _why_ he wanted to flee so badly that still managed to confuse him. 

Shaking his head, Harry ignored the many frustrated questions that had been thrown and he and Buffy and instead asked one of his own. "Where's Remus?" he asked, seizing onto the first neutral thought he could think of, desperately hoping for his old professor's calming influence before Sirius decided to hex him for disappearing as he had. "Jarod mentioned that he had heard two voices in the background. We just assumed that it-"

"On his way back to Hogwarts to notify Dumbledore and the others that you and Buffy have turned up," Sirius quickly retorted, his hands never quite leaving Harry's shoulders as his eyes roved critically over his godson. Harry looked tan, fit, and quite healthy - a little tired and worn, as evidenced by the deep smudges beneath his brilliant green eyes, but otherwise in good shape. And while that sight caused his heart to swell with relief, it also did little to prevent the fierce scowl that was now twisting his features.

"Dumbledore! But why-"

"Harry, I don't know what you were thinking with your little disappearing stunt, but you've had half the magical community doing everything they could to find you!" Sirius quickly continued, his tone sharper than he had intended as Harry seemed to wince at his words, his expression becoming even dimmer. "When Ron and Hermione showed up in Switzerland to find that you two had vanished, and when Dumbledore himself couldn't locate you... well, we began to fear the worst," he murmured, his tone softening slightly as he once more gathered the teen into his embrace.

"We really didn't mean to make everyone so worried," Buffy murmured, a small, tentative smile pulling at her lips. "And besides, you know that Harry and I are perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves."

"At one point in time, perhaps," Giles agreed, frowning sadly at the girl that stood before him, hating to remind her of her failings now that she had her destiny stolen from her - especially after the battle she fought in order to finally accept what fate had handed her. "But without your slayer strength and Harry's magic, you're both just as susceptible to the evils of the world as any other person."

At her watcher's soft words, Buffy quickly exchanged a rather guilty look with Harry. "Yeah, about that..."

* * *

Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the small, narrow windows that adorned the upper walls of the large basement, casting the room in a warm, golden light. Seemingly lost in thought, the young girl absently turned the pages of the dusty tome in front of her, blue eyes lazily skipping back and forth between the aged words and the glowing sphere that sat before her on the highly polished wood. "Come now, ma petite, I know that I have seen you somewhere before," she murmured, her low voice all but hidden beneath the loud grunts that her fellow slayer seemed to be producing at a rather alarming rate.

Distracted, the young slayer slowly lifted her head, a small frown pulling at her full lips as she watched Faith execute a perfect roundhouse kick that sent the punching bag careening wildly to one side. Then, without even so much as a pause, the older slayer was on the move again, jumping, ducking, and twirling with a finesse that the younger girl admired. Celeste knew that she was young, even for a slayer, with only fourteen years under her belt before she had been called, but at least nine of those years had been spent in Monsieur Bertrone's care, which meant that Celeste had at least nine years of training to bolster her sudden strength and speed. Yet somehow, she couldn't help but think that even if she had thirty years of training to help her, she would still never even come close to the power and beauty that Faith possessed when she fought. 

The older slayer had once told her that slaying was like dancing - a feral, primitive dance that had nothing to do with thinking, planning, or any of the other activities that Celeste excelled at. Instead, in order to truly be a slayer you had to let go of everything and just _be_ the Slayer - an idea that Celeste couldn't help but scoff at, sure that the older slayer was merely teasing her once more. However, it was the look of sadness and loss that graced the brunette's features that instantly caused Celeste to heed Faith's words. Buffy, she had said, had truly known how to dance. If only she had a chance to see Buffy do the dance, then Celeste would finally understand what it meant to be a slayer.

Personally, Celeste was quite sure that she already knew what it meant to be a slayer. It meant listening to your watcher, heeding his advice, and researching your enemies to learn of their strengths and weaknesses. Faith's problems, as far as she could tell, was the simple fact that she didn't _have_ a watcher. Then again, despite this realization, the young slayer couldn't help but wonder about Faith's simple words. 

She had only met the first slayer, Buffy, once - and only briefly when she had first arrived in Sunnydale. She had met her when Buffy was still the slayer, the first of the three, and even then she could sense the latent power that was hidden within the older, and oddly enough, much shorter girl. It was also that very night that Buffy had lost whatever it was that made her the slayer. That something so incredible had happened that Buffy had been effectively un-called. When everyone had returned from that great battle, they had returned a much more subdued group than the one that had left - and they had returned without Buffy. Now, countless months later, Celeste couldn't help but wonder if perhaps Faith had been right. For while she honestly did enjoy Faith's company, and admired the girl's speed and skill in fighting (although it would be wiser to eat rat poison than to admit such a thing to her watcher)... she also couldn't help but wonder that had she only seen Buffy in action, perhaps then she would understand what the dance was all about.

Sighing, Celeste brushed away her whimsical thoughts and instead focused back on the book sitting before her. If Monsieur Bertrone had glanced up from his own novel then, and seen the wondering look upon her face, she knew that she would have received a reproving frown - if she had been lucky. If her watcher was feeling a bit peeked and frustrated from his own fruitless search, then the result would have been more along the line of a scolding rebuke. Daydreaming, he would have called it. Young girls daydreamed; slayers did not. And as of the night that Faith was killed and then brought back to life, Celeste was no longer a young girl. Actually, she hadn't been a young girl since the day that she had been given up by her parents to be raised by the Council. No, she had been a young girl for the first five years of her life, a Potential for the following nine, and then she became the slayer. Or rather, _a_ slayer. At first, one of three. Now, one of two.

One of two that was currently allowing her mind to wander once more. Sighing, Celeste forced herself to concentrate on the book before her - only to have her eyes slide once more back to the brightly glowing orb. A mysterious glowing orb that held her fierce concentration - until it was, of course, shattered as Faith let out an enormous grunt that was loud enough to shake the rafters around them. As her watcher clucked disapprovingly at what had to be a display that was meant to raise his ire, Celeste found her blue eyes locking once more on Faith's lithe form. If she was lucky, perhaps Monsieur Bertrone would allow her to spar with the slayer later that night. Perhaps even-

Forcing back a groan of boredom, Celeste quickly shook her wandering thoughts away and firmly focused on the book once more. Pointedly she lifted one slender hand and turned the brittle page - and let out a startled exclamation as her eyes finally fell upon the familiar passage that she had been searching for. "I found it! I found it!" she cried out, her young voice ringing out in the room and causing Faith to finally abandon her training as Monsieur Bertrone focused his gray eyes upon her.

"What have you found, Celeste?" the watcher asked, his voice carefully schooled into that of neutrality spiked with a hint of mild interest.

"The orb is called a Dagon Sphere," the slayer quickly read, her face practically glowing with delight as she eagerly scoured the familiar passage for pertinent information. Now that it was sitting before her, she remembered the afternoon she had spent pouring over this same book in one of the first few weeks of her arrival. After all, while Monsieur Bertrone's private library had been extensive, to be placed in a house that contained so many wonderfully ancient texts filled her with the remembered delight of receiving a birthday present, as she had when she was but a petite enfant in her family's care.

"A Dagon's Sphere, huh?" Faith said, a wide smile lifting her lips as the girl practically beamed at her before turning once more to the dusty book. Rolling her eyes, Faith crossed the imaginary line that separated the training room from the more booky-side of her old watcher's basement. "So what's it do?" she asked, casually lifting the glowing orb and tossing it a few times, just to see if the uptight French watcher would rise to the bait.

"It is a centuries old protective device used to ward off ancient, primordial evil," Celeste explained, reading the passage aloud even as she grabbed the sphere mid-toss and set it gently on the table before her. Frowning a bit, Celeste reread the following paragraphs several times before shrugging her shoulders, blue eyes skipping to her watcher. "Unfortunately, the text is rather vague about this evil. It merely states that it was created to 'repel that which cannot be named.'"

"I can think of a few names for it already," Faith returned with a saucy grin as she headed back to her side of the basement. "You know - something like, 'Yo Ugly.' Or, 'Hey Big, Dark and Slimy,'" she added as she began slipping a few daggers into various hiding spots, hidden amongst the tight leather and jean.

"Where are you going?" Celeste asked, curious despite herself as Faith tossed her a particularly long, serrated knife.

"_We_," Faith began with a stern look, "are going back to the factory where I found the glow ball. See if we can't find whoever left our little trinket behind," she finished as she turned and headed up the stairs - evidently confident that Celeste would follow.

For a moment, Celeste merely stared after the older slayer before quickly bending low, sliding the knife into a small sheath that she strapped against her ankle. Standing, she quickly straightened her jeans over the weapon and then grabbed her jean jacket from the back of the chair that she had been sitting in and turned to follow - freezing at the warm hand that closed around her wrist.

"Celeste, I want you to be careful," Bertrone murmured, his eyes darkening into a stormy gray as a tiny knot of fear tightened in his chest. "Do not blindly follow her. I know that she has been a slayer longer than you have, but she has not the discipline nor the education that you do. Follow your own heart," he urged, waiting for her small nod before slowly releasing his hold. "And remember: anything that goes unnamed is usually an object of deep worship or great fear, maybe both. Be careful," he repeated softly as he watched his slayer hurry up the steep stair. Yet even as she disappeared from sight, leaving him alone in the large basement, Bertrone couldn't help the small spike of fear that coursed down his spine. 

He had a terribly bad feeling about this business and as always, when his slayer, his petite Celeste, was the one facing it without him to watch over her... his mother had been right when she had grieved over his chosen path. "There is much sorrow in the life of a watcher, mon fils. Great sorrow indeed." He, for one, hoped to never experience the sorrow of his predecessors - a fruitless wish, he knew. Nonetheless, each time he said adieu to his young charge, he couldn't help but think upon the broken man that had been his father from the day that his slayer was killed until the day that he was finally laid to rest. Somehow, with him, it was going to be different. He had raised the girl for nine years, tried to keep her distant from his heart while teaching her what she needed to know in order to survive. And while she wasn't quite the natural fighter that was his father's slayer, a girl that he only distantly remembered, she had strength in mind. Great strength. A strength that he was beginning to believe even surpassed his own. Somehow, it was going to be different with him. It had to be.

**To be continued...**


	5. Chapter 5

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 5"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: What follows is an extremely shameless plus for two amazing stories! For a really great and quite original BtVS/HP fic, check out DragonGal's "What You Did," story ID 1358103. For the sequel to Katharra's "Ripple Effect," a BtVS/LoTR cross that I absolutely ADORED, check out "The Bittersweet," story ID 1404740. In addition, this will have to be my last post for a few weeks - my brother and his girlfriend are dropping in for the week to enjoy our summer festival and things are going to be crazy fun! Sorry everyone! I promise I'll put the next chapter up as soon as I get a chance.

Finally, I need your help with something! Since BtVS canon failed to give Faith a last name, I was forced to give her one last chapter (Faith Evans). And because it's getting quite ridiculous to constantly refer to Jarod as simply, Jarod, and Miss Parker as Miss Parker, I'd like your input! Instead of strapping my own imagination, I'd love to hear some suggestions on a last name for Jarod, and a first name for Miss Parker! So, hit me with your best suggestions! And with no further ado, on with the story!

* * *

"So you remember that thing Dumbledore said about us never getting our groove back?" Buffy asked as everyone settled into the many chairs littered around Jarod's office. By unspoken agreement, Buffy and Harry were once more sitting on the large, black leather couch, side by side and drawing strength from each other in the simple brush of their shoulders. On either side of them sat Giles and Sirius, large, over-stuffed leather chairs drug in as close as they could so that their knees were practically touching, even as Jarod and Miss Parker sat a little further back in their rather lopsided circle. "Well, he was a little off on that mark - as in no where near the target - like continents off," she continued, shrugging her shoulders simply as a deep silence fell over the room.

"Good lord," Giles murmured, his breath catching in his throat as he automatically pulled his glasses from his nose and began to polish them furiously on the hem of his sweater. "You mean that... that you... and he..."

"We've, uh..." Harry began as Sirius' gaze narrowed on him in a mix of wonder and disbelief. "Well, Buffy and I have been getting better for a while now. We're not back to full strength, by any means," he quickly stressed. "Buffy's getting stronger, but she's still not that much stronger than we would-"

"And Harry's quite capable of floating pineapples," Buffy interrupted with a bright smile that seemed at odds with her earlier unease, "but I wouldn't ask him to work on a Volvo or anything," she finished with a small smirk even as Harry rolled his eyes at her description. But as a heavy silence seemed to thicken around them, the small slayer quickly strove to explain what Dumbledore had either been unable or simply unwilling to do so himself. "Giles," she murmured, eyes drifting until they locked with her watcher's incredulous green eyes, "we left you all back in July because we needed to find out who we were. We needed to find Buffy and Harry again. And we did." Sharing a small, brief smile with Harry, Buffy quickly squeezed his hand before turning once more to her watcher, her other hand reaching out until it was entwined in Giles' weathered grip. "I was Chosen to be the Slayer and that's something that can't be undone by _anything_. I can't just _ stop_ being a slayer anymore than Harry can stop being a wizard. You can't separate the Buffy from the Slayer anymore than you can separate the Harry form the wizard. It's who we are."

"B-b-but shouldn't Dumbledore have known this?" Giles stammered, wide eyes quickly turning to Sirius for support - for some way to explain this to him. While a part of him had been secretly thrilled to learn that Buffy was no longer the slayer - that she could be safe, protected, and live the kind of life that she had always deserved to live, another larger part of him had mourned the part of her that he thought dead and gone forever. 

Buffy as the Vampire Slayer, the Chosen One, was a force to be reckoned with and a great champion for the world in the fight against darkness. While he may have been slightly biased seeing as how she was _his_ slayer, he was never afraid to admit that in his opinion, she was one of the finest, if not _the_ finest, slayer that had ever been. She was powerful and dedicated to the cause and a stunning creature to watch in battle. She was beautiful and when she moved against an opponent, he found it quite obvious that this was something that Buffy had been born to do. And while she had struggled with her destiny for many years, when she had finally accepted her fate, she had accepted it with all of her heart and that acceptance had made her even more determined and an even greater warrior... which made it all the more heartbreaking to see her fall so far after Voldemort's defeat. 

After the battle she had been nearly as lost and as broken as she had been once liberated from the Centre's hold - but even then she had never truly lost a part of herself. Oh, she had lost dearly from that escapade: her mother, her home, her own mind, for a time - and most sad of all, whatever innocence that had survived her calling was gone forever. But she had never truly lost herself. Yet when faced with the consequences of Voldemort's defeat - what she had lost in that battle was a part of herself and Giles had secretly wondered if she would ever be whole again. And now, it seemed she was - a fact that his brain was desperately trying to come to turns with.

For a moment, Giles' question remained unanswered as Sirius looked to him, to Harry, to Buffy, and then back to Giles - before turning back to Harry once more. For Sirius, there had never been any secret joy at what fate had done to James and Lily's son. For a wizard, to suddenly face life as a muggle or a squib was a brutal fate and he had mourned for Harry's loss very deeply. Oh, he had put on a brave face for Harry and tried his best to see the bright side of the matter, such as the fact that at least Harry was still alive, but once Harry had left on his soul-searching trip with Buffy... well, Sirius had fallen apart. His depression had been deep and had it not been for Remus, and Harry's occasional letter, he doubted that he would have been able to pull out of it - which made the ensuing months of Harry's disappearance all the more difficult. But to have him back, and still a wizard... well, Sirius was also having problems getting his mind to work straight.

"Perhaps he already did," Harry supplied for his godfather with a simple shrug. "Maybe he wanted for us to realize that who we are has never changed - not really."

"Could this have something to do with why the headmaster was unable to locate them?" Giles murmured, forcing his overloaded mind to focus on the smaller details rather than the overwhelming realization that Buffy was fine. She was fine, she was whole, she was safe and once more, she was the Slayer.

"No," Sirius quickly disagreed, his mind whirling. "If anything, that should have made it easier," he countered, his battered mind trying to lethargically sort through the puzzle. "Remus told me that Dumbledore mentioned that something kept blocking his attempts to find them."

"But if not their returning strength, what?"

As both adults lapsed into a puzzled silence, Buffy slowly turned until she was meeting Harry's concerned green eyes. Sighing, she watched him nod and, taking a deep breath, she then proceeded to voice both of their unspoken fears. "I think that there's something wrong with us," she murmured, her words a whispered testament to her confusion - but so startling in the silent room that instantly all eyes were locked on her small form. More importantly, they locked on the tears that were glistening in Buffy's eyes as Harry quickly draped an arm over her small shoulders.

"I don't know what's going on," Harry added, frowning as he tried to sort through his jumbled thoughts and emotions, "but I feel like something is wrong," he admitted with a helpless shrug as he took up the mantle of trying to explain something that neither of them even understood. Sighing, the lanky teen ran his free hand through his unkempt hair, his eyes darting around the office, flitting over Jarod and Miss Parker, Giles and Sirius, before finally landing on his hand that lay resting in his lap. "I don't know why we haven't stayed in touch and why we just disappeared. To be honest, neither of us really questioned it until we received the howler. Lately, though," he added, his voice dying away as he finally lifted his gaze and locked with Sirius' confused blue eyes. "Lately something has been driving us to keep moving, to stay together, and to stay away from all that we know - especially from Sunnydale and everything related to it. Even now I still feel it. My instincts are telling me that we shouldn't be here. That we shouldn't be seeing you. That we're putting ourselves in danger by being here with you," he finished, wishing he could take back his rushed words at the stark pain that radiated from Sirius' bent form.

"But that's ridiculous," Sirius returned, his voice sounding much higher than normal. "I'm your godfather - I'd never hurt you."

"I _know_ that," Harry quickly agreed, gritting his teeth in frustration as his free hand clenched into a tight fist. "But the feeling is still there. It... it feels like we're endangering something by being here... endangering Buffy," he murmured with sudden realization, his words coming quicker now as his eyes flashed to the slayer beside him in confusion. "Sirius, I need to stay with her, protect her - keep her safe and hidden."

"How... how long have you felt this way?" Giles asked, his eyes drifting back and forth between Harry's frustration and the fear and confusion that Buffy seemed to be fighting. And instinctively, Giles knew that it wasn't some threat known only to them that frightened his slayer in a way that not even Lord Voldemort himself had been able to, but rather the obviously unknown problem - the unknown thing that had caused the two teens to act against their very nature for so long. After all, how could Buffy fight an opponent she didn't know where to find?

Sighing, Harry shrugged his shoulders, suddenly extremely weary and feeling every bit of the long journey that they had undertaken to get here - felt with a sinking heart every unknown fear that had been lurking far beneath his subconscious mind. "I don't know," he muttered, his voice sullen and bleak as he turned his green eyes angrily to the hand that was clenched so tightly in his lap.

"Well, I think it's obvious that whatever happened, must have happened while they were in Switzerland," Jarod volunteered, having quietly followed the conversation from his arm chair a little beyond their circle. "That's where they were supposed to meet up with their friends, right?"

"Yes, but _what_ happened?" Buffy quickly returned, nearly growling in frustration. "I don't remember _anything_ wrong - nothing's happened!"

Sighing, Giles quickly pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to sort through the jumbled mess of information that they had been given after so many months of false hopes and leads. "I don't understand," he admitted, shaking his head curtly as he focused once more on the two teens. "Where have you been these past two months?"

Frowning, Harry quickly shared a quick glance with Buffy before shrugging his shoulders helplessly. "All over," he admitted, realizing the whole truth behind that statement. "We - we haven't stayed in the same place for over two or three days since we left Switzerland."

"Why did you pull all of your money from your muggle bank accounts?" Sirius quickly asked, watching as a look of confusion twisted his godson's features.

"Because... because it was just easier that way," he murmured, as though realizing for the first time how truly odd that statement was. How truly odd their actions had been.

"And how have you been staying out of the computers for so long?" Giles quickly returned, his unease deepening as the questions seemed to further unnerve the teens, instead of aiding them. "Willow hasn't been able to find a single mention of your names in reservation lists or passenger details in months."

"We haven't been using our real names," Buffy admitted, for the first time wondering why they would do such a ridiculous thing. "Before we left Switzerland we picked up several fake passports and have been using those because... because it's safer this way," she murmured, wide green eyes pleading with her watcher to help her understand their strange actions.

But Giles had nothing to offer his slayer save more of the many questions that had troubled his thoughts for the past two months. In the end, it always came back down to one simple admonishment set in the simplest of questions. "_Why didn't you contact us?_"

"I don't know," Buffy whispered, her voice cracking beneath the strain of her words, tears glistening in her eyes. "I know we should have contacted you earlier - especially when we started getting our stuff back, but... but I don't know why we didn't. I'm sorry," she whispered, obviously just as frustrated by her vague answers as everyone else.

Sensing a situation that was quickly deteriorating and obviously getting them nowhere, Miss Parker slowly stood from her leather chair and smoothed her tight skirt over long legs. "Well, I, for one, could use something to drink," she muttered as she turned and headed towards a small bar that was set casually against the far wall. "Jarod, where do you keep your scotch?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at the man that continued to stare at the two teens as though a new puzzle had been dropped in his lap - a new and very disturbing puzzle. When he didn't answer, she merely rolled her eyes in annoyance and helped herself to a bottle of water before slowly making her way back to the group. A group that continued to look as though someone had just run over their favorite pet - repeatedly.

Frowning, Miss Parker decided that she had enough of this little visit down the rabbit's hole and tried for a little reality. "So let me get this straight," she stated, eyes drifting over the assembled group. "You two skipped town about two months ago and have been on the run ever since - but you don't remember why. You're still a wizard and you're still a slayer," she continued, pointing at each teen in turn even as she forced herself to give name to the odd title, "and the best reason you can come up with for your erratic behavior is-"

"We don't know," Buffy repeated, her voice more firm this time as she straightened imperceptibly under Miss Parker's narrowed gaze. "All I know is that something is wrong - that there's something going on that I should remember," she added, a hard edge lining her voice as she realized the full implication of her words. After Lyle and Raines' perversion of her mind and the ensuing violence that had followed, the thought that someone had once more done something to alter that which should have been hers alone... to think that someone had played God with her mind and her memories once more... it was enough to make even the most laid back of slayers want to kill something - and then kill it again. "We don't know and that's what we need you to figure out."

* * *

Eyes narrowed, Faith made her way carefully through the factory, Celeste moving quietly at her back. Even though the older slayer would never admit it, she had been worried about bringing the kid along - especially when their particular task called for breaking into the factory beneath the bright light of day. As she had skirted the fence, still broken from her run-in with the biker vamp the night before, she had fully expected the security guard, or one of his friends, to start blowing their little whistles at them even as they alerted the cops to their illegal entrance - or even worse, drawing their guns. When that hadn't happened, and even stranger, they had encountered no resistance whatsoever in making their way into the factory - well, Faith found her muscles growing tighter as she threw her senses far and wide about her, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was easy - far too easy and that made Faith nervous. And if there was one thing that Faith didn't like, it was being nervous.

Scowling, Faith quickly drew her attention back to the long, concrete stairs that she and Celeste were slowly making their way up. The bottom floor of the factory had been deserted and the only footprints to be found on the dusty floor all headed in the same direction - and that was towards the gaping maw that stood before them.

"Faith, look," Celeste murmured, the tall girl moving past the older slayer and lightly running her fingers over the jagged metal that used to be the hinges of whatever door had guarded this place.

Frowning, Faith felt her nerves tingling as she forced herself to bite back her anxious words for the kid to stay beside her. Celeste was a slayer and had just as much right to go traipsing through an abandoned factory to look for clues as she did. Then again, as Faith took in the twisted metal that _used_ to be the large metal door, laying just a few feet beyond the jagged opening, she quickly began to reevaluate her earlier estimates. After all, whatever took that door off was strong. As in really, really strong. "Kid, we better-" Faith began, only to forget whatever she was saying as she realized that the girl was no longer beside her. "Celeste!" she hissed as she angrily spun around and watched as the tall girl practically sprinted across the room and slid to a stop before a single chair that sat before a large, grimy window. A chair that held a man, bound to the wood with tight ropes, and that looked like he had been used as one of Faith's punching bags for God-only-knew how long. "_Celeste!_" she hissed again, hurrying after the girl even as her eyes swept desperately around the room. For as smart as the kid was, apparently she had missed the fact that the man's face and body were decorated by blood. Fresh blood.

Seemingly oblivious to Faith's angry concern, Celeste quickly went to work on the ropes, the man's hazy brown eyes blinking at her through a stream of red blood. "T'inquiete pas," she whispered reassuringly, trying to smile for the beaten man. "We found your Dagon Sphere - it was yours, was it not?" she asked, trying to keep up a litany of words in hopes of distracting the man from the agonizing pain that he had to be suffering. But all of her attempts at distraction seemed seemed a moot point to a man whose eyes never quite met hers - a man who was already lost to the world around him and hidden in his own private hell. "Faith, who would do such a thing?" she asked, drawing her eyes away from the man and cursing vehemently in French at a particularly stubborn knot - only to freeze as she realized the stupidity of her actions. Practically growling as she reached out and snapped the ropes with the slightest of pressure, she nearly hit herself as she remembered the strength that she was still getting used to.

"I'm guessing that they did," Faith returned evenly, her eyes finally alighting on something that wasn't old machinery or dusty crates. Straightening, the dark-haired slayer frowned as she took in the man and woman that were casually ambling in their direction. They both looked to be in their mid-twenties, the woman standing around 5'10" and slender, a gauzy white skirt and blouse hugging her perfect curves and causing her porcelain-colored skin to practically glow under the dim lighting, her long, curly red hair falling in ringlets down her back. The man, however, was what really drew Faith's attention - and what caused her frown to quickly turn upside down. He stood around six feet tall, slim with short black hair that framed his face in small curls and eyes that seemed violet-colored in the bad lighting. With high cheekbones and a straight nose, he looked almost aristocratic - or else like the hottest guy to ever grace Faith's sight. Grinning seductively, she allowed her eyes to travel slowly up the black pants that hugged his long, lean legs and slim hips, to the loose shirt that was buttoned over his chest and showed off two nicely toned arms, before finally settling on the hard, violet-colored eyes. "And hello, gorgeous," she murmured appreciatively, unconsciously running both hands over her own, leather clad curves.

"Why Ser," the guy murmured in return, his voice deep and ringing - sounding so beautiful that Faith was quite sure that she could sit and listen to him talk dirty to her all day long, "it looks as though someone is trying to make away with our Monk," he chuckled, his long-lashed eyes glancing dismissively at the two girls that flanked the beaten man.

"So it would seem," Ser agreed, a large smile lifting her red lips as she spent a little more time taking in the two girls. One was young, more girl than woman, and close to her own height with raven dark hair and wide, blue eyes. This one seemed to hover protectively over their monk, her pale hands clasping reflexively on the man's shoulder as her eyes turned to the older girl beside her. Following her gaze, she allowed her eyes to meet the brown eyes of the other girl, this one more woman than girl, and slightly shorter than the other - but with eyes that seemed hardly frightened or wary of their presence - eyes that seemed to invite danger with a strange relish. A puzzling combination that Ser immediately found appealing. "And while you've just ate, I'm starving - and they'll do nicely," she finished as the man slowly began to walk towards the girls, a slow smile lifting his lips.

Straightening, Celeste began to edge nervously away from the two strangers while still trying to keep between the pair and the man that was lolling in a near unconscious state behind her. While this Ser and her male companion hardly looked like they could be very dangerous, the proof of that false hope rest in the twisted wreckage of the metal doors and the bloodied man behind her. Then, there was always her watcher's final warning: _anything that goes unnamed is usually an object of deep worship or great fear, maybe both_. Idly, she wondered which they had received in the beautiful packaging that stood before them.

But even while the kid was filled with a deep fear and respect for what they faced, Faith, of course, took a vastly different look at the situation. "How did you know that I was itching for a fight?" she asked, a cocky grin plastered across her painted lips as she slowly strut forward, focusing on the guy as they slowly began to circle each other - each appraising the other. When he gave no answer, she merely shrugged noncommittally and continued with her musings. "So what are you?" she continued, eyes narrowed as she took in the eyes that were indeed the most beautiful shade of violet that she had ever seen. "Because you're obviously not a vamp," she added as the man circled through a patch of dirty sunlight that was streaming through the large window. "Demon?" she asked, considering the idea for the briefest of moments before quickly discarding it. If this guy was a demon, Faith quickly decided that Buffy's thing for the unnatural had a bit of reason after all. "'Cause whatever you are," the slayer continued, eyes narrowing further as she finally listened to what her senses had been telling her all along, "you're definitely not human," she finished as she quickly danced forward and landed a vicious right cross on the guy, putting all of her impressive strength behind the blow - only to stagger back, her aching hand cradled in the other's embrace and brown eyes wide in shock.

"Why Dahm," Ser called out, her beautiful voice echoing in the factory as Dahm slowly wiped a small trickle of blood from a split lip that immediately began to heal, "I do believe that she drew blood."

"She's strong," Dahm admitted, his eyes raking over Faith's figure, obviously intrigued, even as the brunette continued backing away until she drew even with Celeste once more.

Sighing, Ser rolled her eyes impatiently. "We don't have time for this," she muttered, casting both girls a scathing glance. "The time is growing nigh-"

"There is time enough for this," Dahm quickly interrupted, a slow, predatory smile lifting his lips as he licked the remaining blood from his chin.

"Fine," Ser snapped, waving irritably at the group as she stepped back against the far wall. "Just don't kill them. I was being serious when I said that I was hungry," she pointed out, her tone biting as she sat back to wait with an air of exaggerated patience. Yet Dahm merely grinned wolfishly at the girls, ignorant of Ser's display as he began to advance upon them once again.

Frowning, Faith felt all of her earlier mirth disappear under a wave of cold, hard fear - not for herself, of course, but for the kid and the battered man that was looking more dead than alive at this point. Somehow Faith had gotten them into this position and she knew that both would be counting on her to get them out of it - something that suddenly, she wasn't quite sure that she had the skill to do. After all, she had hit the guy with everything she had only to watch him heal before her very eyes. In Faith's book, that didn't equate a whole lot of good.

"Stay here," she muttered, turning narrowed eyes to the girl that stood beside her before finally moving forward, meeting the guy a few feet away to renew their dance - a dance that Faith already suspected wasn't going to go in her favor - not after the way the guy just rolled off of her blow, his wound healing before her eyes. Then again, as a slow grin lifted her lips, Faith realized that there was at least one thing she _was_ sure of - if they were going to dance, Faith was going to lead.

Once more Faith and Dahm began to circle each other, one part of the slayer's mind registering the fact that the girl seemed willing to stay out of the fight - and honest enough with herself to realize how lucky she was with that small bit of fortune. After all, Faith had a sinking feeling that she was going to have her hands full as it was just tussling with the guy that circled before her.

For the briefest of moments the dark-haired slayer struggled to form a plan of attack - any kind of attack as her ego continued to struggle through the shock of having her best punch pushed to the side. It wasn't every day that something like that happened. Actually, that had _never _happened before - but any such planning was quickly thrown to the side as Faith felt her grin lift even more. Planning was more B's thing, anyway. For Faith, the fun had always been in the ass-kicking. And with that thought to bolster her, the slayer got down to doing what she did best as she launched herself forward in a series of hard punches, Dahm moving forward to meet her and blocking everything she threw his way. Frustrated, Faith quickly ducked low and swept her leg out, hoping to throw him off balance and cursing herself as the guy merely jumped over her leg and used her own distraction to kick her, mid-air.

Grunting, Faith found herself flying back, sliding across the rough concrete floor in a cloud of dust. Grimacing, she quickly hopped to her feet and jumped forward with a hard kick that snapped the guy's neck back - a kick that would have broken the neck of any vampire, but which merely caused her current opponent to stumble a bit before reclaiming his balance. Yet even as he finished stumbling Faith was already moving forward with another series of punches and kicks that left her winded and her hands numb and her feet bruised - and Dahm none the worse for wear.

"My turn," he said simply, smiling enigmatically at her before catching the next fist aimed for his face and using her arm to swing her into a nearby concrete support beam - a beam that shattered beneath the force of her weight being slammed against it. Unable to hold in her cry of pain, Faith stumbled to her knees, blinking back tears of pain as she struggled to her feet - only to catch a punch low in the torso that echoed with the unmistakable dry crack of breaking ribs. Gasping as a white-hot agony rippled up and down her side, Faith went down hard and didn't think that she'd be getting back up again any time soon. Wrapping one arm around her injured side, the slayer slowly lifted her head, watching through a curtain of brown hair as Dahm casually stepped closer - and then arched his back in a testament of pain before flying into another cement support beam, reducing it to yet another pile of rubble. 

Confused, Faith watched Dahm's trajectory for a puzzling moment, watching as the man staggered to his feet and reached his arm behind his back, his features twisting into a grotesque mask as he ripped a bloody, long, serrated knife from his back - a very familiar knife. "I told you to say out of this," Faith ground out between agonizing breaths as Celeste's concerned face blocked her view. 

"And watch you get beaten to death?" the girl questioned as she helped Faith to her feet. "I think not," the French girl murmured as Faith pulled away, a small grimace twisting her features as both watched Dahm admire the blade before casually tossing it aside.

"The young one is strong as well," he stated, rather unnecessarily as his narrowed eyes focused on the two girls. "There is much power is these two."

"Good for them," Ser muttered as she absently admired one perfectly manicured nail beneath the weak light. "Though I doubt they taste any different," she added as Dahm renewed his attack - this time fighting both girls at once.

Biting back a groan as her broken ribs shifted, Faith pushed her pain away and reached for her hidden weapons, drawing the blades quickly and tossing one to the Kid before twirling the other expertly in her hand. "Let's do this," she murmured as she focused on her opponent, ducking and twirling as best as she could and launching an attack whenever he was distracted enough by Celeste's movements to leave an opening. But even as she landed the occasional hit and the knife caught flesh a few times before it was knocked away, Faith refused to delude herself into thinking that they stood a chance. She was injured and Celeste was young - something that ordinarily wouldn't have been that big of a problem. Despite these relatively small obstacles, they still should have been any demon's worst nightmare. After all, if one slayer was deadly, two slayers were unstoppable, no matter what injuries they sported. But this guy was something different. Something deadly. Gasping as another hit sent her careening back against a far wall where she collapsed in a world of agony, Faith slowly, painfully pulled herself to her feet in time to see Celeste go flying back in the air and through another cement support beam, the girl landing painfully in a crumpled pile next to the monk even as the building began to tremble.

Grimacing, Faith staggered to her feet and shuffled over to where Celeste was slowly getting up, even as the floor bucked beneath their feet. "Kid, you okay?" she asked, biting the words out as Celeste wiped a trickle of blood into a smear of red across her chin. At the girl's small nod, Faith slowly turned, her eyes locking on Dahm as he casually flexed his hand before starting in their direction. They were running out of options. Sighing, the dark-haired slayer was about to meet him to continue their little dance when the beaten man moaned piteously behind them.

"Faith, we need to get out of here," Celeste quickly murmured, her small hand wrapping around Faith's wrist and holding her back with the strength of a slayer. "They are too strong and the building is collapsing. We need to get him to safety," she urged, watching as a myriad of emotions flashed across the older girl's face - all verging from her obvious reluctance to run from a fight, and the more prudent understanding that Celeste was right. In the end, the small nod was all that Celeste needed as the young girl turned quickly and lifted the battered monk into her arms, ignoring her own battered body's loud protests.

"Hey," Ser quickly called out, her melodious voice hard and cold and her perusal of her nails forgotten as her gray eyes narrowed on the two girls. "My dinner is trying to make off with my monk," she stated, anger coloring her voice.

"_Our_ monk," Dahm quickly corrected, violet eyes narrowing on the red-haired woman. "Or have you forgotten already?"

"I forget nothing," Ser countered as she pushed away from the wall, her voice dropping into a menacing whisper.

"Neither do-"

"Let's get out of here," Faith whispered as the building trembled beneath them, the two beings seemingly oblivious to the danger and lost in their angry threats against one another. But even as she looked to the door and the only exit from the room, Faith felt that hope crumble as the two beings unwittingly met each other before the door, their eyes locked on one another and their angry words growing louder as the building began to shake.

"Faith, we must get out of here!"

Ignoring Celeste's frantic cry, Faith allowed her eyes to desperately sweep over the room, looking for another door - any other door seeing as how their entrance was definitely not going to work as an exit - especially not with the shape they were in and the quickly deteriorating state of the building. Swinging about, Faith began to curse quietly when her eyes fell upon the large window that continued to let in a dusty pane of light. Frowning, she considered her options for the briefest of moments before her decision was made for her. With the sudden silence Faith knew that the little squabble was over, which meant that their time was up.

As the floor seemed to jerk beneath her feet, Faith quickly launched herself at Celeste and tackled the girl and the monk that she was holding, all three flying back and crashing through the large window behind them in an explosion of shattering glass. All too quickly the ground rushed up to meet them as Celeste turned so that she cushioned the monk's fall, Faith rolling to absorb the impact and springing lightly to her feet - and stumbling again as her ribs protested the movement. Grimacing, Faith hobbled over to where Celeste lay, the girl groaning quietly from her spread eagle position on the cracked pavement. "Come on, no time, no time," Faith muttered as she grabbed the monk by the arm and began dragging him away from the factory, Celeste limping after her as the building gave one final shudder before collapsing upon itself.

As an explosion of dust and debris rained upon them, Faith stumbled against the fence that lined that property, her lungs closing and causing her to fall as she tried to breathe the thick air. Wheezing, she tried in vain to control her ragged breaths, one arm wrapped protectively around her stomach as her eyes sought out Celeste's, assuring herself that the kid would live. And while the younger slayer was certainly liberally covered in a fine coating of dust and grime, blood marring her pretty features, Faith was relieved to see that she didn't look on death's door... even though the same couldn't be said for the monk that they had gone to all of that trouble to save.

"My... my journey is done, I think," the man whispered, his first words to them leaving his lips amidst a strangled breath.

"No, you are safe now," Celeste quickly countered, her eyes going wide as she looked to Faith desperately, as though begging her to do something to help him. But it only took one look for Faith to see that the man was beyond her help. Perhaps beyond anyone's help, now.

Ignoring Celeste's words, the man allowed his brown eyes to meet with each of the girl's in turn, his gaze pleading with them to understand. "You must... you must..."

"Must what?" Faith snapped, ignoring the kid's shocked glance.

"The key... you must help to protect the key."

"What key?" Celeste asked as she glared at the older slayer, as though daring her to join the conversation once more.

"Many more will die if you... if you do not keep it safe," the man wheezed, his eyes beginning to look glassy beneath the dying rays of the afternoon sun.

"Who will die? I don't understand?" Celeste murmured, her words a quiet plea as Faith's eyes narrowed upon the man.

"The key... the key is energy. It's a portal.... opens the door."

"The Dagon Sphere?" she returned, blue eyes growing wider at the implications of the man's words. The text hadn't mentioned anything about the orb being able to do _that_. She had thought that it was merely a tool of protection.

"No," the monk quickly denied, his eyes slipping shut for the briefest of moments before his brown eyes opened once more. "For centuries... it had no form at all. My brethren, it's only keepers, then... _ they_ found us," he murmured, his eyes drifting back to the ruined factory. "Dahmascus and Serantine... they came and we... we had to hide the key... made it with one who could protect it... made the Slayer the Key."

"The Slayer?" Celeste murmured, her eyes growing wide. "But there are two-"

"Three," the monk corrected with a small, blood-stained smile.

"Buffy?" Faith broke in, her eyes growing wide as a deep, nameless fear began to freeze her veins.

"She's the key," the monk agreed, nodding slowly as he thought back to the small, fiery blond girl and the powerful, dark-haired boy that he had not seen in over two months. He had initiated the spell then, the spell that would combine the girl and the key into one... and he had sent them on their way. He had tried to lead the beasts away from her, to keep her safe... but in this, he could do no longer.

"You made Buffy this key?" Faith repeated, her fear beginning to be replaced by a burning anger. Eyes narrowing, Faith made to grab the man by the throat, wanting nothing more than to throttle him for answers and to condemn him for doing something to the girl that she had come to care for as a sister. The girl that had disappeared two months ago. But, as always, Celeste was there to act as her reason as the taller girl quickly grabbed Faith's reaching hands and forced them back to her side.

"We knew the Slayer could protect... that others would help keep her safe," the monk murmured, his voice growing weak and his words soft. "You must keep her safe," he added, his final, whispered words before his eyes slid shut for the last time, leaving the two girls in a thick silence.

Trembling, Celeste watched as the man's chest rose for the last time before falling - and when his chest didn't rise again she felt the tears burn in her eyes. Intellectually, she knew that there was nothing more that she and Faith could have done for the man. There was nothing that they could have done against creatures such as the two that they had faced. Dahm and Ser. Dahmascus and Serantine. Feeling her tears dry and her weakness began to change into something deep and hard and... primal, Celeste found a strength that had been hiding deep down within herself for so many months - and drew upon it. After all, while there was nothing that they could have done for this man, there was something that they could do for Buffy. Their third slayer. 

And when Faith finally forced herself to her feet and pulled Celeste up beside her, the dark-haired slayer was surprised by the determination that shone in the younger girl's eyes. The strength and light that shone from those blue eyes was the strength and light of a slayer. A real slayer - not the Council's puppet.

Unable to resist the small grin that pulled at her lips, Faith threw her arm around the taller girl and allowed her to support her battered figure as they began to pick their way towards the street beyond. They had work to do, people to contact, research to be done, and most importantly, they had a slayer to find. And later... later they had some ass to kick... if they could only figure out how to do so without getting their asses kicked instead. And she knew _just_ the person to contact to help with that problem.

**To be continued...**


	6. Chapter 6

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 6"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: To start, I need to offer my most profound apologies for taking so long with this chapter. As I mentioned before, I had company for the week, and seeing as how I turned 23 in the midst of it, that seemed to signify to my company that such an occasion warranted a week-long party that resulted in many a stupid drunken stupor, bad pick-up lines, 3 hours of sleep per night, and full days of work and playing tourist with my guests. Needless to say, once they left on Sunday I spent my day in bed - however, the phrase too little too late comes to mind as my immune system has rebelled against my week-long drunken foolery and I am now down with a summer cold. *sighs* Thus, be rewarded in the fact that I'm reaping my punishment and will try my best to never lapse again. And the beaches are so beautiful right now... *insert LONG dramatic sigh* And thus ends apology, and on to the good stuff - and WARNING: EXTREMELY LONG CHAPTER TO FOLLOW!!!

* * *

"We don't know and that's what we need you to figure out."

If only things could be that simple. Sighing, Buffy sat back in her plush leather chair and listened to the conversation that seemed to be going in circles around her. From complex wizarding spells to state-of-the-art brainwashing techniques, both Sirius and Jarod seemed to be in their element as the two men argued the merits and downfalls to the spells and procedures - each trying to decide which avenue would most likely explain she and Harry's erratic behavior. Buffy, on the other hand, was quickly coming to the conclusion that neither seemed to fully explain the situation. After all, she knew firsthand what brainwashing was all about, and she could personally vouch that this wasn't the problem. It wasn't as though the ideas that were driving them were alien to she and Harry. Rather they seemed to be their own thoughts, feelings and intuitions - making it obvious that the real problem wasn't a foreign thought guiding them, but rather a lack of knowledge - a lack of remembrance of the very _thing_ that drove them. In other words, it seemed to the small slayer that there was something missing from this puzzle rather than added to it - and by the way that Giles and Miss Parker followed the conversation, their eyes bemusedly traveling from one man to the other as the debate became heated, it was obvious that she wasn't the only one that shared in this conclusion.

Rolling her eyes as Sirius launched into a tirade on the virtues of wizarding magic, Buffy found her attention beginning to wan. In a way, the conversation was a shock to her system - a welcome shock. For the past two months, she and Harry had existed for nothing else but each other's company. And while their time together had been wonderful, deep down Buffy had begun to crave the presence of others: Giles, her friends, and everything that made up a past that seemed so distant and unimportant when faced with the strange drive to keep moving. But now, with Giles' knee brushing against hers and his green eyes constantly searching out her own, she couldn't help but be reminded of the thing that had always driven her when the odds just became too much - and that was the friends that she had been missing. They had always given her a reason to keep fighting the good fight and now, when reunited with a few of the people that she had been secretly missing... well, now Buffy feared that unless they could get to the bottom of the mess that she and Harry had somehow found themselves in... she may never be able to go back to them.

"Buffy?"

Shaking her head, wisps of blond hair slapping at her face, Buffy forced a small smile for Harry as she tried to focus on the conversation - and briefly even considered adding her own insight on the horrors of brainwashing when she became distracted by a shrill beeping. Turning, she watched as Miss Parker lifted a small pager from the waist band of her skirt, frowned at the message, and then stalked from the room - disappearing for a few seconds before returning with a very disheveled-looking Remus Lupin. Immediately everyone was on their feet as the hugs, scolding, and explanations were repeated - and all registering in the background of Buffy's tumultuous thoughts as a new chirping interrupted the chaos. Frowning, she watched as her watcher quickly searched his pockets for his cell phone before backing away from the others, retreating to a corner of the room as he lifted the small device to his ear - and then met her eyes as he shared a few brief words with whomever had called before returning the phone to his pocket.

"Giles?" Buffy asked, slipping unnoticed from Harry's side as he was engulfed in yet another bone-crushing hug from his favored 'uncle' and former professor, the older man's soft scolding falling away as she moved to meet her watcher a fair distance from the others.

"That was Samuel Fellows-"

"Your friend from the Council?"

"Head of the Council, yes," Giles agreed, his gaze turning distant as he obviously mulled over his friend's urgent questions. "He sounded relieved to hear that you had turned up. He said that he and some others are on their way here right now."

"He and who others?" Buffy returned, frowning softly as she unconsciously wrapped her small arms around her waist. After all, even if she did receive the memo about the Council being on their side for the moment, and had even met and received help from Mr. Fellows in the past, that did little to completely erase all of the bad that always seemed to go with the organization that had haunted her steps since first being called.

"He didn't say," Giles murmured, not bothering to mention the fact that aside from a brief warning to stay there, his friend hadn't really taken the time to offer much else in the way of explanation for his rather odd behavior.

"Giles, I don't-" Buffy began, her eyes sliding over to find Harry's questioning gaze resting on her - and then freezing as the room's occupants suddenly doubled with a whoosh of displaced air. Startled, Buffy felt herself instinctively stepping away, the small of her back colliding with Giles' solid frame as nine people suddenly appeared in the middle of the room, all grasping an edge of a small, white handkerchief. Stunned, Buffy felt her eyes widen as her gaze skipped over the very people that she had been longing for, as well as a few others: Willow, Xander, Faith, Tara, Ron, Hermione, Samuel Fellows, and the new slayer and her watcher - and all looking expectantly at the room's contents before they scattered.

"Oof!" Buffy grunted as Willow and Xander threw themselves at her, wrapping her in their tight embrace and squeezing her even as they babbled incoherently, their loud voices trying to be heard over the others. Not that she understood a word that they were saying. Instead, what with practically every single person in the room vying to be heard by the two teens, all that came out was a thundering din that instantly caused Buffy to wish frantically for the quiet and serene tropical beach that she had left only days ago. Within minutes she was then traded off to Ron and Hermione, the wizard and witch taking their turn at adding their voices to the fray as they hugged her so tight that Buffy was beginning to have to struggle for each lungful of oxygen. And then, surprisingly enough, the two teens were replaced by Faith - her sister slayer herself as the normally standoffish girl crushed her in a hug that Buffy knew left more than a few of her ribs bruised. And then... and then there was a sort of blessed reprieve as Giles wrapped a strong arm around her waist, his features tightened into a small scowl that caused her friends to heed his glare and back away enough to form a small circle before her even as she became idly aware of a similar circle now capturing Harry across the room.

More than a little overwhelmed at the group's sudden arrival and subsequent attempts to assure themselves of her well-being, Buffy took a moment to allow her gaze to drift over each person in turn. First came Xander, her friend looking a bit heavier than he had in the four months since she had seen him, but with a grin that would never change and that seemed to light up the room with its goofiness. Then came Tara - a girl that she had only met for the first time on the night that they battled Lord Voldemort - yet a girl that had been willing to risk her life to help a castle full of strangers. Even now, the taller girl smiled shyly at Buffy as she seemed to fidget between Xander and Willow, her warm hazel eyes sliding over her before turning back to Willow... Willow. Grinning, Buffy took in the short red hair and the long, gypsy-ish red skirt and the funky sweater - a far cry from the clothes that Willow had always sported in high school. Smiling, she allowed her eyes to slip past her friend as she instinctively searched for the boy that could always be found by her friend's side - and frowned as she came up empty. "Where's Oz?" Buffy asked as she turned back to the slender redhead.

"Oh... O-Oz?" Willow stammered, a fierce blush staining her cheeks as she bit her lip, her eyes slipping over to Tara and Xander before finally landing back on her best friend. "Well, you see... we, uh... we broke up a few months ago."

"You WHAT?" Buffy yelped, her eyes growing wide as she clapped a hand over her mouth as though she could take back her startled statement by will alone. Wincing, she quickly turned her eyes away as she berated herself for her complete and utter lack of tact. After all, she knew how much Willow had loved the werewolf-y member of their little Scooby gang and she couldn't help but think of how much the break-up must have hurt the red head. But when she dared to lift her eyes again, she quickly realized that Willow seemed more embarrassed than hurt by the break-up. And for some reason, Buffy had the distinct impression that Willow had been the one to do the breaking. "Why?" Buffy asked, her eyes searching her friend's and more than a little surprised at what she found there.

"Well, I-I think," Willow stammered, her cheeks flaming so bright that they began to match her hair, "I think that-that my evil vampire double maybe had it right-"

"That killing, torturing, and causing general mayhem is fun?" Buffy asked dubiously.

"Uh, no," Willow quickly denied, smiling despite herself. "More like... well... remember when I said that I thought that she was kind of gay?"

"Yeah, you..." Buffy began, only to have her words trail off as her eyes widened in sudden understanding. "You - gay? But... but-" she continued as her eyes fell on Tara who seemed to be staring at any and everything but Buffy, her cheeks as red as Willow's hair. "You too?" she asked, her mind trying to wrap around the strange puzzle that had been put before her. "Both gay? Together gay?"

"Way together gay," Willow confirmed with a bright smile as she entwined her fingers with her girlfriend's.

"And let me tell you how fun it is to live with _that_!" Xander added, rolling his eyes dramatically as he cast a quick glance to the couple beside him. "I may no longer be a teenager-"

"Barely," Faith added with a small snort.

"-but I'm still as hormonally-challenged as they come. And I'm pretty sure that those two visit my dreams every... and should be shutting up now," he quickly finished as Willow threw her friend a scandalized glare.

"Wait- hold up," Buffy quickly protested as she grinned at her friends, trying in vain not to laugh as Xander danced out of the way of Willow's slap, Tara all the while trying to hold back her girlfriend. "What do you mean, living with that?" she asked, her eyes sliding over to land on her sister slayer - dressed in her usual assortment of tight leather and jean, a sly smile lifting her painted lips.

"We're all living at my place," Faith explained with a small shrug as she gestured to the three teens as well as the new watcher and slayer who had been standing quietly off to the side - the Frenchman's curious eyes never quite straying from Buffy's slim form.

"You have a place?" Buffy quickly parroted, obviously missing a connection or two as she looked blankly at the others.

"Wow, you really _have_ been out of the loop," Xander stated, wincing as he earned a slap from Willow for his blunt words.

"Faith's watcher willed her huge house in Sunnydale to her," Willow explained as she sent Faith a guarded glance. "It's become the new Scooby central."

And as Buffy's incredulous stare quickly turned in the direction of the dark-haired slayer, Faith found it was her turn to uncharacteristically blush as she quickly tried to brush off Willow's words and everything that they implied. After all, she had an image to uphold. "Hey, what was I going to do with all of that space?" she asked nonchalantly as she parted her hands before her. Not that she really fooled anyone - Buffy included. After all, while Buffy may have been out of the loop for a bit, that didn't mean that she had completely lost the ability to read her friends and former enemies. "But enough about us, B," Faith quickly added as she opened up their little circle, her eyes darting over to scan the dark-haired teen that had disappeared with Buffy for so long. "Where have you and Boy-Wonder been all this time? Because as I was telling everyone else, two months is a lot of time for nookie."

Ignoring the glib comment, Buffy instead focused on the question that had been plaguing she and the others as they tried to work through the dilemma that had united them once more. "That... that's a long story," Buffy murmured, sighing softly as she met Harry's eyes from across the room, not really wanting to go into an explanation for the third time in the past few hours for something that they truly didn't understand.

"Well, then how about the cliff notes?" Xander persisted, his eyes betraying his worry and... something else.

Frowning softly, Buffy realized what it was that she saw in Xander's familiar brown gaze: fear. Eyes narrowing, Buffy turned back to her friends and allowed her gaze to go deeper than surface trivialities, quickly becoming dismayed by the same emotion that she read in each of their guarded expressions. Something was going on, and whatever it was, it wasn't of the good. Even the new slayer and her watcher seemed to share in this fear - but their fear seemed to be of a different nature, more muted somehow - more untouched. Sensing his presence, Buffy turned and saw the same confusion in Harry's eyes as his green orbs seemed to move back and forth between Ron and Hermione... and her. With a start, Buffy finally realized the truly unnerving aspect of the fear that the new arrivals seemed to share - and that was the fact that it seemed to be directed towards her and her alone.

"Something happened to us a few months back," Harry finally supplied, his concern growing as Sirius, Giles, and Remus seemed to finally pick up on the underlying tension that charged the air around them. "But we don't know what," he admitted, a small frown pulling at his lips as he absently rubbed at the scar that marred his forehead, more out of habit than any discomfort. After all, he hadn't felt even the slightest twinge from the curse scar since Voldemort's defeat. Instead, he found his discomfort now had a new source.

"Well, I think we got your answers," Faith returned, her expression turning serious as she eyed her sister-slayer. "Me and the Kid ran into a couple of bad asses earlier this afternoon that worked us over real good," she continued, frowning as she admitted to the severe injuries that both had sported - and that had been healed by a few potions that good old Bertie always seemed to keep on hand. "We may look five by five now, but trust me when I say that we had our asses delivered to us on a platter."

"Vampires?" Buffy asked, her confusion mounting as Giles quietly moved to her side, her watcher laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Against two slayers?" Faith snorted before quickly shaking her head. "Try again."

"Demons?" Giles asked, his irritation beginning to show.

"Gods," Celeste stated, her voice grim as she shot the smaller slayer a calculating look, as though sizing her up and searching for something that was hidden from her eyes. "Or more precisely, Hell Gods."

For a moment a thick silence fell upon the room as the non-Sunnydale crew tried to digest this particular bit of information - and failed quite spectacularly. "Okay, excuse me when I say, huh?" Buffy stated, shaking her head quickly as her eyes scoured over the group, obviously looking for more information - which was the cue that Samuel had been quietly waiting for.

"After their encounter, Faith contacted myself at the Council in hopes of more information on their opponents," he stated, his British accent clipping his words as his eyes danced over the dark-haired slayer. "When I was unable to reach Rupert, I, in turn, contacted Miss Granger instead. And while she hasn't had time to fully research the creatures, what she has discovered was quite enough."

Sighing, Hermione slowly ran a tired hand through her long, auburn-colored hair - fully feeling the effects of being startled out of bed in hopes of finding some answers, only a few scant hours after joining Ron in that comforting warmth. Unfortunately, the answers that she found were hardly what she had been hoping for.

"Well, as my letters have stated, I work for the Council now," the former Gryffindor began, unable to resist throwing Harry a slightly wounded look at the mention of the many letters that she had been sending her best friend for months now - letters that always came back unopened and untouched. "The Research Department, to be more specific," she added as she nodded towards Giles.

"And you found something about these Hell Gods - already?" Giles prompted, his forehead wrinkling in confusion as he eyed the young girl. The watcher knew that the witch was smart - she was, after all, the top student in her graduating class at Hogwarts and the Council had been lucky to acquire such an asset. In the ensuing months that they had been working together, that much had been proven to Giles time and time again. After all, not only was Hermione Granger a bright girl, but she was also impressively good at scouring over ancient texts and scrolls in order to find the exact information that was needed - a skill that she said was developed during her time at Hogwarts over the years when hunting for information as varied as the maker of the Sorceror's Stone to different hexes, jinxes, and curses to aid Harry during the Triwizard Tournament in their third year. Her love of the written word was no secret - but the part that boggled Giles' mind was the apparent speed and ease to which this information had been obtained. After all, the Council's libraries were nothing if not vast, and a search for such specific information would usually take days, if not weeks of combined efforts from the many wizards, witches, and muggles that the Council employed. Yet, if Giles understood correctly, Hermione had already found some of the answers that they were looking for. "Has there been much recorded on them?"

"No, quite the opposite, actually," Hermione returned with a small, thoughtful frown. "The monk-"

"What monk?" Buffy quickly interrupted, her eyes narrowing as she turned back to the dark-haired slayer, even as she felt Harry's hand tighten around her own.

"According to him, a friend of yours. Dead now," Faith returned evenly, her brown eyes never straying from the blonde slayer as Buffy and Harry turned towards one another, obviously straining for something - and coming up short.

Shaking his head in frustration, Harry brought his free hand up as he wearily pinched the bridge of his nose. "You were saying," he sighed, gesturing for Hermione to continue.

Sharing a concerned look with Ron, Hermione kneaded the soft flesh of her lower lip before timidly going on. "The monk was able to provide Faith and Celeste with the names of the Hell Gods, and they happened to ring a bell. You see," she continued, her earlier hesitation forgotten as her eyes began to sparkle in excitement. "The Watcher's Council acquired an old text a few years back that mentioned our two Hell Gods. Apparently, three Hell Gods - Glorificus, Dahmascus, and Serantine - all ruled over one of the rather nastier hell dimensions. They all hated each other and were constantly waging war upon each other. However, approximately five hundred years ago Glorificus, the strongest of the three, was able to drive them from their dimension and into ours-"

"So you weren't kidding when you said that they were Gods," Faith cut in, a small smile playing around her lips that seemed completely at odds with the daunting information that Hermione had uncovered.

"Hell Gods, yes," Hermione agreed with a small frown.

"Which does explain the hotness," Faith sighed, her eyes getting a familiar, far away gleam as she unconsciously cocked one hip to the side, her lips lifting in a saucy grin.

"You thought the evil Hell Gods were hot?" Xander asked, not quite sure why he was so surprised by this revelation.

"Hell yeah!" the dark-haired slayer quickly stated, her eyes snapping back into focus as she grinned at the tall teen. "Dahm was so yummy that I couldn't decide if I wanted to fight him or eat him right there!" she added as she spared a glance to the raven-haired slayer that was standing beside her - and blushing a deep scarlet color. Unable to resist, Faith turned to Xander and winked slyly at him before nodding pointedly to the youngest slayer.

Following her gaze, Xander allowed a wicked grin to lift his lips as he took in the girl's obvious embarrassment at Faith's words. Then, schooling his features once more he quickly rolled his eyes before turning back to Faith. "Like your taste can be any judge," he snorted, softening his words with his own exaggerated wink - one that the youngest slayer missed completely as she seemed to be trying her best to go unnoticed. "Your little conquests can hardly be called GQ material."

"Xander, you shouldn't be so hard on yourself," Faith broke in, grinning cheekily as Xander's mouth dropped open, his face burning a bright red as Willow and Buffy both turned wide eyes towards him.

"You... and Faith?" Willow sputtered, her quivering finger dancing between the two. "How... I mean, when.. no - why?" she croaked even as Tara held her close and began smoothing down her hair, whispering sweet nothings even as Buffy tried in vain to stifle her giggles.

"I like to think of it as charity work," Faith shrugged, her smile growing wide as Xander's embarrassed flush turned into an indignant shade of deep red.

"Anyway," Xander cut in pointedly, his eyes narrowing on the dark-haired slayer. "The point is that I think we need an impartial judge," he added, practically growling the words as he turned and pointedly brought everyone's attention to the tall slayer that was vainly trying to hide behind her oblivious watcher. "So, Celeste - were they really that hot?" he asked as he cocked a dark brow at her young features.

Pale face burning bright red, Celeste slowly straightened as she stammered for a response. "Well, well yes - yes t-t-the God was... he was very nice looking, yes," she finally stuttered, her eyes looking everywhere but at the level gray eyes of her watcher. "But I really couldn't say about the female," she hurried on as she chanced an apologetic look in Willow and Tara's direction. "I-I do not like women in that-"

"Hell," Faith quickly broke in as her grin broadened, "I don't like playing on that side of the field either, but the chick was so hot that even I was starting to question my ways."

"And as I was saying," Hermione broke in pointedly, her cheeks stained the same color as her boyfriend's hair even as her eyes continued to dart incredulously to the brassy American girl, "that was close to five hundred years ago." Sighing as the attention was once more drawn back to her and the topic at hand, Hermione allowed her gaze to drift back to the notes that she was even now pulling from the pocket of her long skirt. "From what I've been able to find," she continued, eyes darting over her neatly printed writing, "they are unable to exist in our world in their true forms and thus, at first they were forced to share a body with a human host. They have since learned that by taking the essence from those that populate our world, they are able to stay in their own immortal bodies."

"So they've been feeding on us for five hundred years?" Buffy asked, her nose wrinkling slightly in disgust at the image that _that_ brought to mind. "Ewww!"

"How have I never learned of this before?" Giles murmured, oblivious to Buffy's words as he absently pulled his glasses from his nose to polish the spotless lenses on the hem of his sweater. "In all of my years with the Council, my time at Hogwarts... surely someone would have known something?"

"To have been surviving on our kind for so long..." Remus whispered, his own mind trying to process this information. "How could this have been kept secret?"

"From what I've been able to learn," Hermione offered, "everything has been kept so silent because both Dahmascus and Serantine have never been about mass destruction nor ruling our world - nothing that would have garnered our attention. Instead, they have been almost single-mindedly pursuing one thing since their arrival in our dimension-"

"An all you can eat human essence buffet?" Xander quipped, even though he already knew the answer. In a way, he almost wished that his answer was the real one.

"The Key," Celeste murmured, answering for them all as she thought back to the monk's dying words.

"What key?" Harry asked, even as the word triggered a memory that seemed half forgotten. A vague recollection of darkness and light, strangers and friends, of fright and urgency and words... words unspoken.

"_The_ Key," Hermione corrected, frowning softly as her eyes drifted from her best friend to the tiny girl that stood beside him. "From what I've been able to gather, the Key will somehow allow them to return to their dimension - but it has always been protected by a brotherhood who vowed to keep it safe until their dying day - the same brotherhood that recorded all of this almost two hundred years ago in the same book that the Council so recently acquired."

"And apparently their dying day was today," Faith added with a small frown. "The last of the monks bit it early this afternoon, and with his overly dramatic dying breath, he passed the mantle on to us," she continued as she jerked a thumb at she and Celeste.

"But why now?" Jarod asked from his position across the room, his arms crossed casually across his chest as his eyes danced over the group, some friends, others strangers. "Why were these Gods able to finally get the better of these monks after five hundred years?" he elaborated as the silence seemed to thicken around them.

"Sounds to me like they learned teamwork," Miss Parker suggested from beside him, her brown eyes thoughtful as she reclined against Jarod's chair. "If they really hated each other that much, they were probably working against each other, and not with each other - something that I know from experience will get you nowhere," she added as she spared a brief smile at Jarod.

"So basically they're immortal, invulnerable, and crackers to boot," Sirius surmised, ticking the points off his fingers.

"Don't forget that we're their favorite lunchable," Xander added with a small grimace.

"And they're all hot and bothered over this key thing that you two are now the official bodyguards of," Buffy continued, casting a small glance at Harry as he seemed to jerk at her words, a frown pulling at his lips. "Or does that make me a bodyguard too, by default?" Buffy added, turning her attention back to the others as she beamed at them. "Because did I forget to mention that the PTB have invited me back into the Slayer Club? Apparently my membership was only suspended and not revoked after... and why aren't you guys going with the shocked woo hoos?" Buffy finished, her smile crumbling as her eyes narrowed at her friends. "After all, Giles was all with the bone-crushing hugs and the recriminations. What gives?"

Sighing, Willow shared a glance with the others before gently dropping an arm over her best friend's shoulders. "Somebody already let us in on that," she admitted as Giles, Sirius, and Remus all sent her simultaneously confused glances, even as Harry seemed to grow paler by the second.

"Somebody who?"

"The monk," Faith said, even as Harry's legs seemed to give out beneath him.

"Harry!" Buffy cried out as she struggled beneath his weight, all the while cursing her slowly-returning strength. Too slowly. "Harry?!" she asked again even as Sirius appeared beside her, one strong arm wrapping around his godson and helping Buffy to lower him to the floor. Immediately Buffy was struck with flashbacks of one warm spring afternoon when Harry fell from his broom, his hand clutching his forehead as he screamed in agony. Only this time, there was no agony - just confusion and worry as Harry's green eyes blinked slowly before slowly focusing on her worried features. "What's wrong?" she whispered, one tanned hand reaching out to smooth a stray lock of black hair away from his suddenly-pale features.

"I remember," he whispered, his voice a choked whisper as a thick silence seemed to fall over the room.

"Remember what?" Buffy returned, a feeling of deep cold filling her veins as she idly wondered if she truly wanted to know.

"I.. I remember that night - in Switzerland. I remember the monks," Harry whispered, his eyes losing their focus as he seemed to relive that night. "I was sleeping but something woke me up. The knife was gone and then they came out of the shadows and forced me into the kitchen - they had the knife," he continued, his words falling in a dazed rush as his eyes closed briefly before opening and focusing on her beautiful green eyes. "You were there and they... they..." he choked, his eyes growing wide.

Instantly, Buffy knew that she didn't want to know - knew that she didn't want to know about that night. Yet even as she knew that, she already felt the walls that she herself had constructed, crumble around her memories as it all came rushing back. She could almost taste her fear as she struggled against her faceless assailants in the dark kitchen, cursing fate for leaving her so weak and defenseless. And then Harry was there as they forced her onto the table before her world was filled with light and pain.. so much pain. Gasping, Buffy felt arms grip hers as the remembered pain brought her to her knees. There was light, pain, and then so much darkness.

"Buffy," Harry whispered, his voice so soft as she slowly opened her eyes and looked into his sad green eyes. "Buffy, you're the Key. The monks made you the Key."

"They put something inside of me - made it a part of me," Buffy whispered, closing her eyes briefly as she struggled in vain to stretch out her senses to find this alien part of her. "Harry, what is it? Can you feel it?" she whispered, hating the tremor in her voice as her eyes lifted to his.

Closing his eyes, Harry stretched out with his senses, his magic touching her own and feeling her barriers willingly fall away before him. Straining, he reached within her and felt that magical core that made her the slayer - that made her Buffy. But somehow... somehow it felt different now. She felt different. Swallowing the lump that was suddenly lodged in his throat, Harry opened his eyes and reached for Buffy's hand. "It's there," he said simply, wishing he could do anything to take away the stark fear that radiated from Buffy's green eyes.

"Well get it out! Can't you - can't you just take it out?" she pleaded, oblivious to those that stood around them - and even to the tears that dripped down her cheeks.

"Buffy, I can't," Harry whispered, even as he wanted nothing more than to do just that. "The monks said so themselves. It's a part of you now, just as the Slayer is a part of you."

"But I don't want this a part of me," Buffy whispered back, sniffling softly as Harry drew her into his arms, allowing her to rest her cheek against the soft leather of his jacket as her hair fell as a curtain around her.

"Just as, for so long, you didn't want the slayer to be a part of you," Giles murmured as he knelt beside the two teens, one hand falling on his slayer's small shoulders. "But in time, you learned to accept that part of you and you realized that who you are never changed. Just as you will do with this."

Sighing, Buffy heard the wisdom in her watcher's words as she reveled in the warmth of Harry's embrace, and the strength that radiated from her watcher's weathered hand. He was right, of course - not that it really made any of it any easier at the moment. "Can't a girl ever catch a freaking break?" she muttered crossly before slowly pulling away, smiling awkwardly at Xander as she accepted his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Sighing, she irritably scrubbed the tears from her face as she turned back to her many friends, all staring at her with expressions that ranged from worry to pity - but all bordering on love. Well, except for Celeste's watcher. No, he just looked intrigued.

Typical watcher.

Sighing once more, Buffy allowed her gangly best friend to guide her to the familiar black leather couch and gratefully sunk onto the plush, cool material, her mind whirling as she thought over the complete and utter unfairness of her life. First the PTB decide to make her a slayer and she gets to watch her first watcher get killed. Then her parents get all wacky and next comes the divorce and the upheaval that lands her in Sunnyhell. Then the PTB get into full swing and bring on the Master, death by drowning, Angel-turned-Angelus, Miss Calendar's death, Kendra's death, and Angel taking some time out in Hell courtesy of none other. All of which is followed by an amazing encore of Faith arriving on scene, Faith turning evil, the mayor's ascension, her mother's murder, her imprisonment in the Centre, torture, brainwashing, evil medical procedures that left her a mindless, killing zombie, and then comes Hogwarts. But of course no break there. Nope, new friends, new life, amazing boyfriend - and an icky bad ass to defeat which results in no more slayer powers. But to top everything off, because of course I don't deserve a break _yet_, I get to be a key now too. Yay me! Now I get not one, but _two_ evil and invincible hell gods coming after me to use... and when did I start speaking that out loud?" Buffy finally asked as she became aware that once more she seemed to be the center of attention.

"Somewhere around the mindless, killing zombie bit," Harry offered helpfully as he sagged onto the couch beside her. "Although I did enjoy the bit about the amazing boyfriend," he added with a small smile as he entwined his fingers with hers. "You were talking about me, right?"

"Well, there was that time with Percy on the astronomy tower - and Snape in the dungeons," Buffy smirked as Harry nearly snatched his hand from hers, a look of stark horror twisting his features.

"Oy! Enough already!" Ron quickly added, his face a very sickly shade of green as he fell dramatically into a wide, leather armchair, Hermione settling comfortably on his lap. "As if that greasy git wasn't already haunting my every nightmare!"

Rolling his eyes at the children's antics, Giles pointedly cleared his throat before focusing back on the current problem at hand. "Well regardless of Buffy's past exploits, the fact remains that if the monks were so insistent that Buffy and Harry remain clear of the Hellmouth, they certainly can't go back to Sunnydale."

Frowning, Willow wanted nothing more than to argue Giles' bleak statement. However, the logical part of her had to concede that the watcher had a point - even if it pained her to admit it. After all, even though they had spent a few brief weeks with Buffy while she recovered at Hogwarts, and a rather dismal three months with her after she was freed from the Centre, the fact remained that Willow had precious little time with her best friend - her real best friend - since their graduation over a year ago. The very idea that she'd have to go even longer without seeing her friend, especially after just getting her back, was heartbreaking. Then again, since when was life ever fair for the Scoobies? "If not Sunnydale, then where? Where _can_ they go?"

"Into hiding," Giles answered immediately, his voice firm.

"No," Buffy quickly argued, a small frown pulling at her lips even as she fought against her rising annoyance. After all, this was she and Harry they were talking about, and after living for so long where the two went wherever the fates took them, to have someone sit down and try and plan her future without her... well, it certainly wasn't going to happen if she had anything to say about it. "No, we've been hiding long enough," she continued, her eyes daring Giles to contradict her.

"Buffy's right," Harry agreed, his eyes darting to Sirius and Remus, silently begging them to hear him out before voicing their own concerns. "We can't just sit back and hide anymore - not when we know that we have the power and strength to help-"

"Help who?" Sirius quickly broke in, ignoring Remus' restraining hand. "Harry, you're just a-"

"I'm eighteen now, Sirius," Harry quickly interrupted, his green eyes flashing defiantly at his godfather. "In any country, that means that I'm an adult now and free to make my own decisions."

"I was going to say that you're just a wizard," Sirius finished, lifting a placating hand before continuing. "Voldemort is dead now, which means that you're free to do whatever you want. Play Quidditch professionally or-" he broke off as Harry began to slowly shake his head, a small smile playing across his lips.

"Sirius, I've spent the last seven years of my life fighting against Voldemort and using my magic to help people. It's too much a part of me now - I just can't stop," he stated with a small shrug. "Besides, you know as well as I do that I'm not just a wizard. I'm the Boy Who Lived," he finished with a cheeky grin that Sirius could never refuse as his godfather ruffled his messy black hair before settling on the couch beside him.

"Either that or you've just been hanging around a certain slayer for too long," Sirius retorted as Buffy practically grinned beside the teen.

"Hear that Giles? Sirius thinks I'm a good influence!" she chirped, enjoying the lighthearted moment for what it was worth. "Besides, while Harry may have a choice in this, I don't. I'm a Slayer, which means that the sacred duty mumbo-jumbo all still applies."

"And the Council could always use another slayer, and we'd never turn down the help of the wizard who defeated Lord Voldemort," Samuel quickly put in as he smiled fondly at the short blonde and the lanky, black-haired teen that sat beside her. "After all, there is much darkness in this world, and not all of it is so willing to sit so placidly on the mouth of Hell."

Grinning, Buffy nudged Harry gently. "I think we just got a job offer," she mock-whispered before tilting her head to the side, as though pondering his words. "How's your health plan?" she finally asked as she steepled her fingers before her.

"Quite excellent," Hermione offered as she reclined against Ron's broad chest. "The best I've seen."

"And travel?" Harry asked, a boyish grin lifting his lips.

"Extensive travel with a hefty budget to see to your needs," Samuel vowed with a solemn nod.

Smiling despite himself, Harry looked to Buffy and awaited her brief nod before turning once more to the head of the Watcher's Council. "We accept," he said simply, responding for the both of them as Buffy's hand tightened within his own.

"Which is all well and good," Xander cut in from his place against the wall, "but what about the rest of us? Because obviously you watcher people are going to get with the research, but hello! Remember the big bad hell gods we have back in Sunnydale?"

Sighing, Willow slowly tucked a strand of red behind one ear as she tilted her head to the side. "Xander's right," she said, frowning as she turned her mind back to the current problem. "Dahmascus and Serantine probably don't know that the monk is dead, seeing as how Faith went back to retrieve the body only a few minutes after leaving it, which means-"

"They will come for us," Celeste finished, her arms wrapping around her small waist as she thought once more of the horrors that they had faced mere hours before. "Faith and I are well known in the demon world in Sunnydale. It will not take long for them to learn of us and to find us," she added, her words becoming hard as she unconsciously straightened. "And when they do, there will be little to aid us," she murmured, her eyes dropping to the floor before her.

"Yet you will fight as you were meant to," her watcher quickly added, his gray eyes cold and hard - and hiding the fear that was making his heart hammer faster than ever. He knew that he would never forget the sight of his slayer returned to him, bloody, bruised and so very battered. She had battled a God and by some miracle had lived to tell about it. Somehow.. somehow he knew that such a miracle would not come again. "Tu es forte, ma petite," he added, his low-timbered words meant for her ears alone. "C'est ton destin."

"Je sais, Monsieur Bertrone. Je sais," Celeste returned with a small, weak smile before turning her eyes once more to the group.

Frowning, Faith watched this murmured exchange for a moment before quickly turning back to the others. She knew that the Kid was strong, that _she_ was strong, but the Kid did have a point. After all, they tag teamed a god and they had been lucky to get away as battered as they had been. Somehow, Faith doubted that even if Buffy had been able to join them in the fight... somehow she doubted that even three slayers would have been enough to turn the tide - especially if Ser decided to join in on the fun. But as she thought back to the fiery-haired goddess, a slow smile began to twist Faith's full, painted lips. "So maybe fighting isn't the answer.... and did I really just say that?" she asked as the Sunnydale group snickered beside her. Rolling her eyes, the dark-haired slayer quickly continued. "Ser said something about having little time. Maybe if we just keep them busy for awhile-"

"Yeah, but what's time to a god that's already been here for centuries?" Ron quickly cut in, joining the conversation for perhaps the first time as he shifted in his over-stuffed chair. "Their idea of a little bit of time could be another couple of centuries for us," he added as he ran a hand through his short red hair.

"Regardless, I think that Faith has a good idea," Giles stated, his eyes growing thoughtful as he nodded once to the dark-haired slayer, oblivious to the girl's surprise that for once, he was actually agreeing with her. "If we can keep them distracted and far away from Buffy and Harry, that will buy us at least a little more time to learn more about the Key and to hopefully discover whatever time table they're working from."

"With a little bit of the monk's hair, Snape can have a batch of Polyjuice Potion prepared within the next month," Remus added thoughtfully. "Until then, someone can use a glamour spell to put up a good front of this monk and lead them away from Sunnydale and keep them occupied."

"Someone who?" Samuel asked pointedly, a small frown pulling at his lips. "What you're proposing is very dangerous: a veritable game of cat and mouse with a pair of Hell Gods," the older man pointed out grimly as his dark eyes swept over the gathered wizards, witches, wiccans, watchers, slayers, and muggles. A very eclectic group, to be sure - but the real question was whether or not such a group contained a person that was crazy enough to volunteer to do what was needed. As if he even needed to ask.

Within several minutes it was decided that Sirius would be the one to take up the dangerous task - not that it was a decision that was easily made with both Harry and Remus adamantly objecting the choice. Then again, Sirius did have a strong case - stronger than any of the others that had volunteered, a list that included the likes of Harry, Remus, Jarod, Giles, Xander, and Faith. The slayer was the first one to be knocked from the list, seeing as how once away from the Hellmouth, neither the polyjuice potion nor the glamour charm would work. Then came Xander and Jarod as it was quickly pointed out that while both knew how to handle themselves, they were still only muggles that would be defenseless against the Hell Gods. Then Giles and Remus were both taken from the list as neither the Council nor Hogwarts could really do without either for however long the chase lasted. In the end, it really came down to Harry and Sirius - a battle that Harry never really stood a chance for. Buffy needed Harry, and the Aurors could do without Sirius. Sirius was a strong wizard in his own right, trained in defensive magic and used to being on the run. And more importantly, Harry was Sirius' godson and their last remaining link to the two friends that they had lost more than a decade ago. Overall, the answer was as simple as that, and even Harry's offer to accompany his godfather was refused, for as Sirius had pointed out, Harry's place was now with Buffy.

Thus it was only hours after being reunited that the group once more parted ways. Buffy and Harry left the Centre with Giles, Hermione, Ron and Samuel Fellows, bound for London and the official headquarters of the Watcher's Council in order to get everything sorted. Likewise, Sirius and Remus accompanied the Sunnydale crew back to the Hellmouth - Remus set with the task of collecting some of the dead monk's hair for the potion while Sirius... while Sirius once more went on the run.

"Are you sure about this?" Remus asked yet again as Willow and Tara finished sprinkling a fine powder in a circle around his friend's lean form, the dim candlelight flickering in the large basement. While the original plan had been to use a simple glamour spell to keep up the charade, the two wiccans had argued that a stronger, nature-based spell would be more appropriate for the first contact with the Hell Gods - more believable.

"For the hundredth time, Moony, yes, I am quite sure," Sirius sighed as he flicked a stray raven strand from his eyes. "We both know that I was the best person for the job," he added as he allowed his blue eyes to slip over his closest friend - a man that showed years far beyond what was due to him.

Sighing, Remus wearily lowered himself onto a hard chair at a nearby table that was loaded with ancient books and scrolls. "Yes, I know - but that doesn't make accepting it any easier," he admitted with a hard frown as he eyes absently took in the strange room that was divided between a library and gym. "I've already lost one Marauder to death, and another to deception... I couldn't stand being the last," he added, tired gray eyes lifting to meet Sirius' sad gaze.

"And you won't," Sirius promised, idly wondering if he'd be able to keep to that vow. "But if this means keeping Harry safe, then there's really no question about what needs to be done. James would have wanted nothing less from us - from me," he added, his voice dropping away as his thoughts turned unbidden back the to the young man that had been lost to them seventeen years before. "James and Lily trusted me to look after Harry should anything ever happen to them, and I've spent twelve of those seventeen years in prison and another three on the run. Somehow, I doubt that's exactly what James and Lily had in mind."

"Somehow I doubt that any of this is exactly what they had in mind for Harry," Remus returned dryly as he slowly abandoned his chair and moved until he was standing before his best friend. "No one intended for any of this to happen as it has, yet there's not a one among us that can take full responsibility for the way things have gone. Besides, I think that twelve years in Azkaban is punishment enough for whatever imagined misdeed you've done. You need to let it go and think on all that you _have_ done for Harry... and more importantly, you need to concentrate on not getting yourself killed and taken away from him forever. He loves you, Padfoot, and while he has the rest of us, you're the one that has come to take the place of the father that he never really had a chance to know. To have you taken away from him now... I think it would be one blow too many on a life that has already been far too hard on him."

Smiling sadly at his friend, Sirius reached a hand out and clasped Remus' hand tightly, allowing his friend's words to warm him. "I'll be careful," he promised, even as he allowed his friend to slip free. Turning, he then nodded to the two girls that were standing so quietly off to the side, obviously trying not to intrude upon their privacy. "Let's do this," he murmured, waving them forward.

"One spry monk, coming up," Willow quickly agreed as she stepped forward, reaching out and taking Tara's hand in her own.

And as the strange magic was cast, Remus slowly retreated into the shadows, his eyes never quite leaving those of his friend even as the blue melted away to be replaced by an unfamiliar pair of worn, brown eyes. Sighing, he watched as the monk's guise slipped over his friend's lean body, melting clothes, hair and stature to create a stranger in his friend's place. Minutes later the slayers were summoned and together, Sirius, Faith, and Celeste slipped into the dark night, intent on locating the hell gods and allowing the game to begin. And throughout it all, Remus continued to stand back in the shadows, his eyes taking in everything and his unspoken words clogging his throat.

The fear was thick in the room and even though it was never mentioned, the fear rest in everyone's minds and could be seen in their eyes as Willow, Tara, and Xander each hugged the dark-haired slayer; the French watcher, Bertrone, curtly nodding at the French girl even as his hands trembled behind his back; and as Remus watched his friend disappear into darkness. The two slayers and his friend were off to find a pair of gods - the slayers with hopes of avoiding conflict this night, while the wizard was meant to lead them into the deadliest of games. And Remus... Remus was left with trivial assurances. Things were different this time. While Sirius baited the hell gods, he was never going to actually try and engage them. If they got too close he could apparate to safety. He wasn't running from the magical law this time, and he could fire call or owl them as he wanted - he could even take a short break and visit Hogwarts or vice versus.

He would be alright. 

He had to be - for the sake of all those that loved him.

**To be continued...**


	7. Chapter 7

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 7"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: And let the good times roll... oh yeah, and your reviews are so appreciated! Thank you! ;p

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Closing her eyes, Buffy allowed the beat to take her, the music thrumming through her body as she instinctually moved against the hard body that she was pressed against, others rocking and gyrating against her from all sides. Head lolling from side to side and wisps of blond sticking to damp skin, she allowed the scent of hundreds of sweaty, young bodies clog her nostrils, cloying with the acrid scent of cigarette smoke that caused a dark haze to spread over the room. Her indecently small, black sequined shirt - nothing more than a piece of cloth that barely covered her chest and secured by a simple tie around her neck and around her bare back - clung to her damp, sweaty skin. A lazy smile pulling at her lips, the small slayer pressed herself forward, rubbing herself lewdly against the body that faced hers even as a large, warm hand settled on the damp skin of her back and pulled her tighter against the body that moved in perfect harmony with her own.

Sighing softly, Buffy quickly pivoted on one ankle and then pressed her back against her partner's chest, a small smile twisting her lips as the arm wrapped around her waist, the large hand splaying fingers over her firm stomach. And then her perfect haze was interrupted as another warm body pressed against her open front, unfamiliar hands trailing down her arms as a groin was ground against her own. Frowning, Buffy allowed her eyes to flutter open, the flashing lights catching on the glitter that lined her green eyes as she glared at the strange man that was busy leering at her, his hot breath washing over her face. Rolling her eyes, she lifted a hand long enough to push the guy away before she was turning once more, her eyes lifting until they locked on Harry's green eyes, twinkling in obvious amusement as his arm once more wrapped around her back and pulled her tight against him.

Smiling coyly, Buffy lifted one leather clad leg and allowed it to rub up Harry's own before wrapping it around his waist. Instantly Harry's expression turned from one of amusement to something far more entertaining as she lifted her arms around his neck even as he tightened his hold on her, his strong arms interlocking and sliding her up his body until both of her legs were wrapped securely around his waist. In seconds they were level as Buffy pressed her lips hungrily against Harry's as the crush of bodies grew even tighter against them as Harry continued to move to the music. Groaning, Buffy's mouth slid open as Harry's tongue darted against her own, his hot breath mingling with hers as she clung to him, ignorant of everything but Harry's warm press against her skin.

Minutes passed unnoticed, one grinding beat quickly exchanged with another and another as the night continued. In the end, it was solely their need for oxygen and their waning strength that finally caused the two to part as Buffy slowly slid back down the length of Harry's body, grinning impishly as he scowled at her in response. And then, linking hands she allowed him to lead her out of the crush of moving bodies and towards the long bar that lined this floor of the sunken club, the deafening beat of the music dying away to a more manageable thunder. Rolling her shoulders in hopes of loosening her tensed muscles, Buffy settled against the bar, one hand lifting to push a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead and tucking it behind one ear as her eyes scanned over the pulsing club.

Three long weeks had passed since Buffy and Harry had learned about the night that had been stolen from them. Three long weeks of globe trotting, hunting, and slaying the darkness that plagued the four corners of the world... and three long weeks of coming to terms with the fact that not only was Buffy no longer just Buffy Summers nor the Vampire Slayer, or even one of the Chosen Three - instead, Buffy was now also The Key. In the end, she couldn't help but think that four titles were a bit much for one so young. Then again, at least her fame was limited to a select few and was in the end more notorious than famed in the demon realms. The same couldn't, of course, be said for the famous Harry Potter.

"What is it?" Buffy practically shouted as Harry passed a glass into her hands, her eyes taking in the pale red liquid that splashed over the rim.

"Couldn't tell you!" Harry shouted back, a stupid grin lifting his lips. "Didn't speak English!"

Smirking, Buffy lifted the glass to her lips and took a tentative sip. Fruity. Tangy. Bitter. Alcohol... lots of alcohol. Shrugging, Buffy downed the glass in one long drink before placing the empty glass on the sticky bar, absently lifting a hand to fan at her flushed skin as Harry sidled beside her. The hot spot for the night was none other than the Capital of Love itself - although this was certainly a side of Paris that Buffy had never anticipated seeing. The club was located off a little side street off the Boulevard de Saint Germain in the 6th District and was filled with men and women of all ages from the very young to the very old. Yet without fail, nearly every single one of them was dressed in some scantily-clad fashion or another. It may have been mid-November outside, but within the club it was baking. For a time, even Buffy's leather pants and wisp of a shirt had seemed like too much clothing as the sweaty bodies had writhed beside her, always moving in time to the heavy beat.

Turning, Buffy allowed her eyes to slip over Harry's lean form, nestled so securely beside her. Years of quidditch had done wonders for her boyfriend's lean frame, and the tight cotton shirt he wore demonstrated this fact quite nicely - especially when combined with the uncharacteristically tight leather pants that seemed sown onto his long legs, and the contact lenses that she had convinced him to don for the occasion. All in all, with his messy black hair held in place by far too much water, he looked less like the Boy Who Lived and more like any other guy who was busy making the most of the cool Paris night. Unfortunately for them both, there was a lot more to their night out than those that surrounded them - a fact that became abundantly clear as Buffy finally allowed her senses to reign free.

"Well?!" Harry called out, his head leaning towards hers as Buffy's eyes swept the room.

"Two vamps by the far wall!" Buffy returned, her eyes narrowing on the slip of a girl with neon pink hair and her butched companion.

"Are these the ones we're looking for?!"

"According to the Garak demon we bagged last night, only one main vampire nest is operating in Paris - the odds are in our favor!" Buffy returned, eyes locked on the two as they were joined by four more couples, all looking old enough to know better as they followed the vampires out into the night. Sighing, Buffy cast one last longing look at the dance floor before grimly accepting her fate. Locking her arm around Harry's waist even as his draped casually over her shoulder, Buffy allowed the wizard to guide her from the club and into the chill night beyond. Shivering slightly as the early winter air slapped against her bared, sweaty skin, Buffy drew closer as they slowly stumbled after the large, raucous group, playing up their inebriation even though their few drinks had done nothing more than provide a small buzz - much to her chagrin. It would figure that her first opportunity to drink legally would be mucked up by her sworn duty.

Destiny. Go figure.

Shrugging her thoughts away, Buffy watched as the group descended a flight of narrow stairs and into the grimy tunnels of the Paris subway system at Rue de Bac.

"They've gone into the Underground-"

"That would be the Metro, Captain Obvious," Buffy corrected with a small smile at her British companion as they quickly followed the loud group. Not that they really needed to fear losing them. After all, the amount of noise that they were making was enough to wake the dead, if they weren't already being accompanied by them, that is - not to mention the nauseating smell that seemed to waft behind them. "Please don't tell me that we smell as bad as they do," Buffy murmured as the group passed their tickets through the machines and then gathered in the middle of the empty platform.

"Worse, I'm sure - although not nearly as bad as it smells in here," Harry countered with a small grimace as he pulled Buffy a few feet further down the line. Idly, he allowed his eyes to trace over the many tattered and stained advertisements that covered the walls behind them, marveling at the differences between the Paris Metro and the London Underground. While the Underground could never really be labeled as the most sanitary of places, it certainly wasn't as disgustingly dirty as the Metro - nor did it ever really wreak of urine quite like the cavernous place they now occupied.

"Lovely," Buffy returned as she wrinkled her nose, unconsciously stepping closer to Harry even as the speakers crackled to life above them. Craning her neck, Buffy idly listened to the rapid-fire French before shrugging her shoulders and turning back to her boyfriend. "My high school French isn't what it used to be, but I think they said something about the last train of the night," she offered, her eyes sweeping the empty platform and noting that, aside from the fools that they were following, the place was deserted.

"Which means we're walking again," Harry surmised as the distant din of the approaching train began to make talking difficult. Sighing, he quickly stored the information away and waited until the train came to a stop before gently pushing Buffy onto the train before him - and then stumbled as she froze mid-way through the doorway. "What?" he asked, shuffling to the side as the doors closed behind him and the train began to pick up speed.

Frowning, Buffy turned and allowed her narrowed gaze to sweep down the length of the dirty train and settling on the very few scattered occupants... occupants that were currently making her slayer sense go wild. "I think we just found our nest," she sighed as the vampires abandoned their seats and began stalking down the rocking train and towards the oblivious partiers... and she and Harry, of course. 

"They couldn't wait until they brought the food to them?" Harry whispered, shaking his head in dismay as he unconsciously took a step away from Buffy even as she bent low on the pretense of retying her high-heeled boot.

"Must've had the munchies," Buffy returned as she quickly lifted the leg of her leather pants and wrapped her hand around the cool shaft of her favorite blade, sliding it free of its sheath even as the screaming began. Sighing, Buffy slowly straightened and turned towards the group, rolling her eyes as the vampires abandoned their human guises and morphed into the faces of their demons. "And so it begins," she sighed, even as Harry grew still beside her, his eyes narrowing in concentration before a soft wind ruffled her shirt and then shot past her, colliding with the built vampire that was about to take a bite out of a swooning girl and knocking him back against the far wall.

Taking her cue, Buffy quickly sprinted down the rocking train and pushed her way through the confused mass. "Get to the other end of the train," she ordered, nodding her head to the front of the speeding metro car even as she ducked the pink vamp's swipe and retaliated with a smooth cut of her knife that easily dislodged the girl's head from her shoulders and caused her to cascade to the floor in a cloud of ash. Spinning, she quickly ducked the attack of another and soon lost herself in the fray, the vampires falling beneath the blade of her knife and her powerful strikes even as she caught glimpses of Harry using every ounce of his wandless magic to either keep the vampires at bay or to take them out by himself.

All in all, Buffy knew that she and Harry made a good team. While they had only been working together for the past three weeks, and at partial strength at that, the two quickly fell into a comfortable routine as Harry worked on keeping their opponents occupied until Buffy was freed up enough to deal with them one by one. It was a slow process, but one that had always served them in the past as it ensured that Buffy wouldn't get overwhelmed while Harry wouldn't tire himself out unnecessarily by doing anything too big. And oddly enough, they both found that the more that Harry used his magic, and the more that Buffy used her slayer strength, the quicker both of these were replenished. In fact, in the three weeks that they had been working for the Council, their strength had almost doubled and was quickly nearing their normal levels... or at least, far more quickly than before.

Grunting, Buffy rolled with the punch that hammered against the small of her back, biting back her cry of pain as she was tossed against the unforgiving wall. Thrown off balance, she stumbled and then crashed into Harry's lean form as the train suddenly began to slow, breaking his concentration as they both tumbled to the floor.

"Buffy," Harry muttered as he tried to untangle himself from her smaller limbs, his eyes locking on the two vampires that were making a break for the slowly closing doors.

"On it," she quickly returned as she jumped to her feet and dove through the narrowing opening, rolling gracefully on the hard concrete and springing to her feet. Turning, she glanced back once at the train that was slowly rolling away, watching as Harry brought his game up a notch and began lighting fire to the vampires that remained. 

"He'll catch up," she muttered, shrugging her shoulders as she turned back in time to see the two vampires disappear around the corner. "Oh no you don't," she quickly ground out as she sprinted after them, ignoring the protests of her aching muscles and bruised flesh. Clutching a rapidly growing stitch in her side, Buffy took the stairs two at a time, her eyes briefly lighting on the sign that gave her location as the metro stop of Notre-Dame des Champs - not that it meant anything to her. Instead, she let her slayer sense guide her up a few more flights of stairs and down the twisting metro passageways until she emerged into the cold, dark night beyond.

Gasping, Buffy skidded to a stop as she quickly turned in either direction - and then froze as the two vampires stepped out of the shadows on either side of the exit. "There you are," she sighed, trying vainly to catch her breath while silently thanking the Powers That Be for ending the chase before she dropped over mid-pursuit.

"You are American," one of the vampires stated, his softly accented voice drawing out each syllable as his eyes roved over her small frame.

"And you're not," Buffy returned, arching a thin, blond brow at the two even as the foreigner made a clumsy dive for her. "Not American or a good fighter. I mean, honestly!" she cried as she followed his dive with a couple of hard punches that left the vampire staggering back against a signpost. "To think you'd haul out the big guns when the slayer comes to town - makes me feel unwelcome," she added as she followed her punch with a kick that broke the vampire's neck before it even realized what was happening.

"You're the Slayer?" the other asked, his glowing yellow eyes growing wide as he looked at his companion's ashes in shock.

"The one and... guess that one doesn't work anymore," Buffy sighed, shaking her head at the slip - only to scowl as the guy turned tail and ran down the street. "Hey! We weren't finished here!" she cried out, her angry words ending in a groan of protest as she finally forced her body to move. Grimacing, she concentrated on making her short strides grow smooth as the man tore down an empty street and vaulted over the high fence to one of the many parks that littered the city of Paris. 

"Oh, give me a freaking break," Buffy muttered, her frown deepening as she increased her pace and then launched herself at the high fence. Gritting her teeth, Buffy wrapped her hands around the cold iron and then flipped over the top of the fence, the ground soaring to meet her as her booted heels sunk into the cold ground. Grunting with the impact, she quickly forced herself to her feet and pushed herself on, sprinting across the leave-strewn ground and chasing the vampire as he raced through the trees - and then skid to a stop as Harry apparated directly in front of him.

Without saying a word, the dark-haired wizard narrowed his green eyes as the stunned vampire and lifted one hand, releasing but a small portion of his magic in a wave that knocked the vampire back and into Buffy's waiting arms. Grimacing, the petite slayer wrapped one small arm around the vampire's thick neck and gripped his head firmly with the other. Then, with one hard twist she broke the vampire's neck and sent him to his brethren.

Sighing, Harry felt his adrenaline begin to ebb away as he sagged against a nearby tree. "You okay?" he asked, watching in concern as Buffy bent over, her hands resting upon her knees and her head tilted down as she struggled for the breath that she had been missing.

"Tired," Buffy wheezed as she worked on getting her beating heart back under control. "Not back up to full strength yet. You?"

"Same here," Harry admitted with a small grimace as he forced his trembling limbs to hold him up. "I doubt that I could levitate a feather right now, even with my wand," he added with a wry smile, thinking back to the very first lesson he ever had in his Charms Class.

"Does that mean that we can call it a night?" Buffy asked hopefully as she wearily moved to Harry's side, one arm wrapping around his waist and helping to keep him steady on his feet.

"I won't tell if you won't," Harry returned with a small smile as they made their way to the fence that locked them in - and then froze as he finally took in his surroundings, a small frown pulling at his lips. "Buffy, where are we?"

"According to that sign, the Jardin du Luxembourg," the small slayer quickly returned before a mirroring frown pulled at her lips. "Oh," she muttered, her eyes sweeping over the securely locked gate. The very high, sharply-pointed, securely locked gate that she had vaulted over earlier with the slightest of effort. "Oh," she repeated with a small sigh as she realized the futility of trying to somehow get through the barrier with the adrenaline gone, her strength waning, and Harry's magic virtually depleted. Sighing, she slowly turned away from the high fence and led Harry back into the middle of the park, setting her mind to the conclusion that, once more, they wouldn't be returning to their warm, comfortable hotel bed that night.

"What again were we thinking again when we agreed to do this?" Harry asked, idly running a hand through his messy black hair as he practically collapsed onto one of the many chairs that circled the large, empty fountain that graced the middle of the enclosed area.

"Oh, I don't know... something about helping the helpless, fighting the good fight, yadda yadda yadda," Buffy murmured around a yawn as she climbed onto his lap and snuggled against his warm body, helping him to wrap his arms tight around her waist as they shared their body heat. Sighing, she felt the vestiges of sleep begin to pull at her conscious mind as Harry's breathing deepened against her cheek. "But next time, let's sleep on it, alright?"

* * *

With a soft hiss of flickering flame, the contents of the cauldron bubbled angrily beneath the weak light of the flickering torches that lined the dank dungeons. Slowly, a long wooden spoon turned the grayish mass as a few strands of dark brown hair were dropped into the cement-like sludge, the potion dissolving the strands in a loud belch before going smooth once more. Then, with precise and practiced movements, one pale hand steadily lifted a small silver flask while the other used the wooden spoon to scoop a good-sized dollop of the sludge and fed it into the small opening, careful not to spill a drop of the precious potion. Nodding once, greasy black hair sliding forward to obscure beady black eyes, the Potions Master slowly replaced the spoon and then sealed the small flask before turning and finally acknowledging the man that stood patiently behind him. "It is ready," Snape stated, his voice cold and his dark eyes narrowed as he grudgingly passed over the precious flask.

"How long will this dose last?" Remus asked, ignoring Snape's blatant hostility as he accepted the flask and deftly slid it into the pocket of his worn coat before drawing his heavy cloak around his stooped shoulders.

"As you should know," Snape began, his tone dripping with snide contempt as he raised his wand and banished the smoldering cauldron to the back of his cupboard where it would continue to simmer until needed again, "the Polyjuice Potion is a very complex and volatile potion. While I was able to adjust it slightly so that it would last a maximum of four days, anything else would have most likely made the contents lethal to those that consumed it. And we wouldn't want that, now would we?" he asked, a sick smile twisting his thin lips.

Sighing softly, Remus called upon his infinite patience and bit back his angry retort. After all, he doubted that there was a soul in the castle that _hadn't_ heard the Potion Professor's heated argument with the headmaster when he was first asked to brew this potion exactly twenty-one days ago. It wasn't so much the fact that he had been asked to brew such a complex potion, but instead the anger was solely directed towards the person that would be benefiting from it: namely one Sirius Black. Then again, if there was one person that Snape hated even worse than Sirius, that would have been James and Lily's son - which meant that pointing out the fact that Harry, Hermione, and Ron had created this same potion in their second year at Hogwarts would have certainly only made the situation even more unbearable. "I'll be sure that Sirius is aware of the time restraint," Remus replied cordially as he inclined his gray-speckled head politely in the sneering man's direction.

Then, without another word, Remus quickly turned and swept out of the dungeon, his traveling cloak flaring around his long frame. In the three weeks since Sirius had begun this mad chase, he had stayed in almost continual contact as he traversed the globe in hopes of keeping the gods at bay. So far, everything had been working in their favor as Remus would frequently even apparate to wherever his friend was currently located, helping to keep the loneliness of his task at bay - yet a quiet part of the DADA professor couldn't help but wonder how long their good fortune would last. As it was, Sirius had admitted to far too many close calls for comfort - close calls that he was sure that Sirius never revealed in his weekly fire calls to Harry. Not that he could blame his oldest friend. After all, from the odd letter and more frequent reports he had been receiving from both Hermione and Sirius, it seemed as though the Watcher's Council was keeping their newest agents quite busy. And even more importantly, apparently Harry and Buffy were really quite good together. If only the same luck could hold for the rest of them.

* * *

Sighing, Ron patiently waited for the last customer to finish their transaction before escorting them to the glass-paneled door to the shop. With an exhausted, half-hearted wave goodbye, he watched as the witch and her son disappeared down the darkened off-shoot of Diagon Alley before closing the door and locking it with a reassuring click. "Blimey - I thought they'd never leave," he sighed as he turned and leaned against the door, one hand reaching up to run through his wild red hair.

"At least they bought something," Charlie offered as he finished placing the knuts in the proper drawer of the old cash register. "With that last sale, I think we topped out yesterday."

"Folks gettin' into the Christmas season and all that," Bill offered as he shuffled into the main room of the store, arms laden with boxes and packages of all sizes. "Ron, want to give me a hand here?"

"Yeah, yeah," the youngest male Weasley quickly replied as he hurried across the store and helped unload the various bits of inventory from his eldest brother's hands. From fake wands to ton tongue taffies to hundreds of other joke paraphernalia, the various items that Fred and George had created in their short lifetime continued to be a huge hit with the wizarding populace - especially considering the legacy that they had left from their days at Hogwarts. By now, the legend of their many pranks had even outgrown the distant memory of the Mauraders until the Weasley Twins were infamous - even more so since the news of their tragic deaths over two years ago. In the end, even though he, Bill and Charlie had only reopened the store around five months ago, the amount of business that they continued to take in was staggering - and it was the best gift that they could ever give to the two brothers that had fallen during the war. "How are we sitting on the Canary Creams?"

"A little low," Bill admitted with a small frown as he absently tugged at his long ponytail, his earring glittering in the candlelight. "We're just lucky that Fred and George left such extensive notes. I'll be able to whip up another batch tomorrow morning."

"I could do it tonight," Ron offered as he began restocking the store's shelves.

Pausing mid-count of the piles of wizarding coins that littered the counter besides the register, Charlie quickly lifted his head and eyed his youngest brother - and frowned at what he saw. There were no longer any secrets in the Weasley family, and everyone, Percy included, knew what was going on with Harry Potter and Buffy Summers and the real reason why they had disappeared for so long... and the reason why none of them had seen either of them since they left earlier that summer. They also knew that while Ron continued to spend his days keeping up the shop with his brothers, upon leaving he always returned to his small flat and quickly immersed himself in the many books that Hermione always brought home, both continuing their search for a way to help their best friend. Already the weeks of unending research were beginning to tell on their younger brother as the smudges beneath his bloodshot eyes grew darker day by day until his freckles were all but hidden beneath the dark bruises.

"No, I think Charlie and I have it covered tonight," Bill smoothly responded, his eyes locking briefly with his brother's before sending a small smile at Ron's tired features. "Why don't you call it a night and head on home - get some sleep. Maybe you'll even beat Hermione back."

"Not likely," Ron snorted as he grinned weakly at his brothers, "on all accounts." Sighing, he slowly stretched out his arms before heading over to the cloak rack. "I met Hermione for lunch today and she mentioned a few books that she wanted us to go over tonight. She mentioned something about some Knights of Miss-Anthony or something or other," he muttered as he slipped the cloak around his shoulders - and then paused as his eyes caught on a framed picture of he, Harry, and Hermione in their second year. It was funny how everything seemed so simple back then, when Professor Snape and expulsion seemed like the worst thing that they could ever face. If only they had known then what was to come: Voldemort, Fred and George, the war... and now the Key. If only they had know then what they did now, mayhap their smiles wouldn't have been so innocent.

Sighing, Ron wearily ran a hand over his troubled eyes. "It's December already and we still haven't found anything else to help out Harry and Buffy," he admitted, unable to repress the image of Giles' eyes from his mind - eyes that were becoming more and more desolate as each book proved useless in their hunt for information. "We all know that Sirius can't keep this up for too much longer and then... and then I don't know what's going to happen. All I know is that one of these Gods took down two Slayers as though it was nothing and sooner or later, both of these Gods are going to be turning their attention to my best friend and his girlfriend, and-"

"You'll find what you're looking for," Bill interrupted as he gently dropped a hand on his younger brother's slumped shoulders. "Hermione is the brightest witch I know, and even Dumbledore himself is helping out. If there's information to be found, they'll find it."

Nodding slowly, Ron allowed the small comfort of his brother's hand to warm him for just a moment before slowly gathering the rest of his stuff. Wand ready, he thought of the small flat that he shared with Hermione and prepared to apparate home when his eyes fell once more on the single frame that glittered in the weak candlelight. Frowning, he allowed his eyes to trace over Harry's smiling face as his friend waved at him eagerly from behind the thin piece of glass. "But will it be in time?" he whispered, his eyes falling shut as he disappeared with a sharp crack, a thick silence falling in his wake.

**To be continued...**


	8. Chapter 8

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 8"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: Apparently jezowen has taken the time to enroll me in EA: Evil Anonymous, a support group whose aim is to help me quit my Evil ways. *grins* I thought that was very kind of her. So, as a nod to jezowen for her thoughtful actions: My name is Lisette and I am Evil. *insert evil laughter* Now, please continue.

* * *

"Buffy, watch that.... step," Harry finished, wincing as the small slayer dodged the demon's wicked claws and stepped back into the open space beyond her. As Buffy's terrified scream ripped through the night air, Harry quickly focused his magic and wordlessly transfigured the broken pile of rubble below her into a small trampoline that caught her small form and threw her back towards her stunned opponent. Sighing, Harry staggered back for a moment and watched as Buffy effortlessly twisted mid-air and landed behind her demon, spinning mid-step and launching at his back with a sharp kick that knocked him off of the broken stone walk and onto a thick pike that was driven into the ruins below.

Grinning, she took a satisfied moment to wipe at the dirt that stained her cheek before flipping off of the walk and down onto the broken stone beside her dead demon. Turning, she allowed her eyes to sweep up and over the impossibly large ruins that surrounded her. While she and Harry had visited the Coliseum in Rome only a few months prior, they certainly hadn't had the run of the place during their particularly touristy visit. Then again, when the demons that had been plaguing Rome's nightlife for months decided to take up residence in the popular tourist spot, who were they to argue against the necessity of breaking into the place earlier that evening?

Sighing, Buffy allowed her breathing to return to a more normal rate as her green eyes took in the massive ruins. She was standing somewhere in the middle of the large arena, the floor broken in too many places and revealing the many cages and underground rooms that had lain beneath the fighting grounds so many centuries before. Now, the actual floor of the arena was little more than a narrow walkway above her and the tiered seating nothing more than jagged and broken sides that stretched up on all sides into the moonless night. Turning as her eye caught on a flash of light, Buffy watched as the last of the demons exploded on a tier high above in a rush of fiery heat so intense that in seconds its thrashing body was nothing more than a fine cloud of ash. Seconds later a sharp crack echoed hollowly behind her as Harry apparated to her side.

"Well, that's it then, is it?" he asked absently, muffling a yawn behind one hand as his eyes swept over the the demon's broken body. "Though you've left quite a mess," he added, his nose wrinkling slightly in distaste at the gory mess. "I imagine the tourists will be getting a bit more than what they paid for come tomorrow morning."

"I guess not all of us can go poof with the evidence," Buffy shrugged as she joined Harry, her eyes curiously roving over the demon's body even as she worked at stretching her stiff muscles.

"You could bury him," Harry suggested as Buffy dropped unceremoniously to the ground beside him, her legs crossed before her.

"Too tired," she quickly moaned as she made a show of smothering a large yawn, one hand drawn dramatically across her forehead.

Rolling his eyes at her display, Harry sighed loudly as he turned his eyes once more to the unmoving body before them. Narrowing his eyes, he quickly drew upon his magic and focused it into a single thought. Seconds later the body erupted into flame, the impromptu funeral pyre burning high and causing a thick spiral of smoke to trail up into the dark night. Drained, the dark-haired wizard then allowed his tired body to settle on the hard ground beside Buffy, the crackling sound of burning flesh almost comforting to his tired ears. "You do realize that it's at least ten blocks back to our hotel?" he finally asked as Buffy leaned against his side, her head resting on that comfortable spot that seemed just made for her.

A soft groan was his only response as Buffy snuggled closer to his side, her mind going a comfortable blank as the heat from the fire washed over her sore and tired limbs, the tension from the fight draining away. If only all fights could end this way: cuddled up with her honey in a beautiful place, the sky open above them, and a nice fire to keep them all toasty warm. Then again, the smell of burning flesh was something that she could do without. Wrinkling her nose at the unpleasant odor, Buffy buried her head deeper in the soft leather of Harry's jacket, the cool winter breeze pushing at her unbound hair.

The days and weeks seemed to keep slipping by as Harry and Buffy traversed the world, working at the Council's beck and call - a fact that Buffy found highly amusing. If only Travers was alive to see the day... if only she hadn't killed Travers close to year ago, such a thing probably would have been possible. Sighing, Buffy shook the heavy thought away and instead allowed the idea of the upcoming holidays to lighten her mood. As long as no apocalypse was looming and no other catastrophe fell, she would soon be spending the Christmas holidays with all of her loved ones, safe within the stone walls of Hogwarts. Giles, Willow, Xander... Giles.

Groaning, Buffy tore herself from her warm cocoon and turned bright green eyes towards Harry. "We were supposed to call Giles tonight," she reminded him, all the while thinking of the long trek that they would now _have_ to take in order to make it back to the hotel and the phone that had most likely been ringing off the hook for the past few hours. And while some things certainly had changed a great deal since her time in Sunnydale, there was one thing that Buffy knew would never change - and that was the knowledge that if she didn't call her watcher tonight, she would be hearing about it for sure tomorrow... and the day after, and the day after that. "Come on - we better get going," she muttered, reluctantly pulling away from Harry's warmth, even as he shifted and attempted to pull her closer. Rolling her eyes, Buffy shifted again as she fought gently with the arms that ensnared her. "Harry, seriously - we don't have time for this. If this was a fire call from Sirius that we were late for, you'd be just as-"

"So why don't you just call Giles now?" Harry asked as he pulled Buffy closer with one arm while the other reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small bag of powder. "Giles has a fireplace. Just call him here."

"But don't _we_ need a fireplace?" Buffy asked as she stilled, her eyes following his one-handed movements with evident curiosity.

"Less a fireplace and more an actual fire," Harry returned as he pulled Buffy into his lap, thus freeing both hands to work with the bag of powder before them both. "It's more of a wizarding regulation, actually," he admitted as he took a pinch of the fine, dark gray powder. "The Ministry of Magic makes the magical community register their fireplaces so that they can regulate travel by floo powder as well as the calls. However, a few weeks back Mister Fellows explained that the Watcher's Council, on the other hand, has a license to operate a little outside those boundaries," Harry explained as he deftly threw the powder into the fire that continued to blaze unchecked before them. "Rupert Giles," he called out, his voice firm as the fire changed in color and burned brighter for a few moments before Giles' head spun into view.

"Ugh... there's something just not right about that," Buffy murmured as she took in her watcher's head, oddly decapitated from his body and floating in the sea of flames.

"There you are!" the aged watched sighed as his oddly floating head turned in their direction, his tired eyes locking on his slayer. "Wait," he murmured, his eyes slipping past her as his head began to rotate in the flames, unwittingly pulling a move straight from the_ Exorcist_,"where are you?" And then, before either could respond his head had turned full circle until it was facing them once more. "Never mind, I don't want to know," he sighed as he attempted to shake his head curtly. "Listen, Hermione and Ron were able to uncover something rather interesting the other night."

Arching her eyebrow at her watcher's wording, Buffy quickly smirked. "How long have they been living together?" she cut in, her brow wrinkled in mock-confusion. "Because if they only uncovered it the other night, we should really be having a talk with-"

Pointedly ignoring his slayer's ramblings, Giles quickly pushed on. "They found a book that makes reference to the Key and the Knights of Byzantium."

"The Knights of Byzan-What?" Buffy quickly returned, her face scrunched up in confusion as Harry pointedly placed his hand over her mouth.

"I've been waiting years for someone to do that," Giles commented as Buffy licked the hand that covered her mouth, causing Harry to quickly pull it away, his features twisted in disgust.

"I'm pretty sure you just licked demon goo," he muttered as he quickly wiped his slimy hand on the stiff material of Buffy's leather jacket, unable to resist a small snicker as the small slayer instantly turned an interesting shade of green as she quickly puckered her lips before turning and spitting noisily off to the side.

Sighing, Giles idly shook his disembodied head before continuing on resolutely. "From what they've been able to find, it's a large order that has been working against our Hell Gods."

"So they're the good guys," Buffy surmised as she wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket, her eyes glaring daggers at Harry.

"Well... not quite," Giles admitted, a small frown pulling at his lips. "Apparently they only want to find the Key before Dahmascus and Serantine so that they can destroy it."

"Oh. So they're the bad guys."

"A little of both, actually," the watcher corrected with a small sigh. "The book that references the Order is quite old - centuries old, actually - and we're doing all that we can to see if they still exist today. Perhaps if we can find someone from their group we will be able to gather some more information about the Hell Gods and the Key."

"Is there anything that we can do to help?" Harry asked hopefully, even though he was pretty sure what his answer was going to be.

"Exactly what you're already doing," Giles sighed, repeating the words that had already been repeated to them at least a dozen times in the past month or so. "And whatever you do-"

"Stay away from the Hellmouth," Buffy muttered, rolling her eyes dramatically as her watcher glared at her. "We get the picture," she sighed, a wry smile lifting her lips as she realized how truly unthreatening her watcher looked when it was merely his head that shot daggers at her. When he didn't have his impressive height to back him, or his hands to obsessively clean his glasses for him, he just... he was just Giles.

Sighing once more, Giles merely shook his head at the girl that sat before him. "Yes, well do remember it then," he stated before squinting once more at the surroundings. "And I'll be sure to talk with Samuel later. Surely the Council can supply you with some more funds to stay in a place a little more... livable," he muttered before shaking his head curtly. "I'll talk to you both in a few days then."

"Night Giles," Buffy returned, snickering quietly as the head swirled madly around in the flames before popping out of sight, leaving Buffy, Harry, and the burning corpse alone in the Coliseum once more. Sighing, Buffy tilted her head back until she was looking into Harry's down-tilted face. "I feel like everyone's working overtime for us, and that we're not doing anything to help," she admitted, frowning softly before curtly shaking her head. "And I don't like it."

"We are helping," Harry returned firmly before quirking a grin at the fire that was only now beginning to die out. "Didn't we just talk to your watcher on the charcoals of one of the demons that has been plaguing this part of Italy?"

"That's not what I meant," Buffy returned solemnly, refusing to allow her anger to die away that easily.

Sighing, Harry tilted his head down further until his forehead was resting against Buffy's, their hair an odd combination of light and dark as his breath fanned against the golden cascade that trailed down his chest. "I know what you mean," he murmured, his voice a low timbre as he lifted his head and pulled Buffy tighter against his chest, both looking forward into the dying embers of the fire. "But there really isn't anything that we _can_ do," he admitted as he planted a soft kiss against the crown of her hair. "We just have to sit tight and trust that our friends will find what they're looking for."

* * *

Unable to stifle her small giggles, Willow batted away her lover's tickling hands with a small plush pillow as she rolled to evade her merciless torment - and promptly fell from the narrow cushions of the couch and collapsed in a graceless heap on the polished wooden floors beneath her. "Oomph!" she grunted, her limbs finally lying still as her gaze rolled until she was staring up into Tara's concerned brown eyes.

"Willow! Are you alright?" the gentle wiccan quickly asked as she knelt beside her girlfriend, pale hands reaching forward to smooth away errant strands of red from the other girl's high forehead, trying and failing to keep the small smile from lifting her full lips.

Wincing, Willow took a moment to regain her lost breath before returning her lover's grin with a petulant pout. "Smoochies always make my boo-boos go away," she stated as seriously as she could as she lifted herself up until she was resting her weight on her elbows, drawing her head closer to Tara's.

"They do, do they?" Tara returned coyly, a small blush staining her cheeks as she lowered her face until she was mere inches from Willow's. "But I fear my lips won't quite reach your injured areas," she murmured as she tipped her head forward, her hair falling in a curtain around them.

"We'll just have to make do," Willow quickly reasoned as she arched forward, her lips eagerly claiming Tara's as one hand reached up to entangle itself in her lover's soft mane. Closing her eyes, the wiccan quickly lost herself in her lover's soft embrace, her thoughts tumbling away and leaving her tottering on the edge of bliss. Moments later, it was the simple need for oxygen that finally caused her to pull away as she fell back on the floor once more.

Laughing softly, Tara quickly pushed herself to her feet, her long skirt falling around her ankles, and then reached down to help her girlfriend beside her. "No more of that," she admonished as she turned and settled once more onto the long couch, making room as Willow promptly settled beside her. "You know what Xander said. No-"

"Smooching in the public areas of the house," Willow finished for her with a small smile as she snuggled beside her girlfriend. "He's just jealous-"

"Obviously," Tara agreed with a small laugh. "Yet regardless, last I checked the living room was still very much considered a public part of this house. Which means-"

"No smooching," Willow sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically as she absently lifted one hand and matched it up against Tara's, smiling as their long fingers lined up and then intertwined with one another. Absolutely content for the first time in weeks, the original Scooby allowed her body to relax into the comfortable folds of the worn couch, the warm lines of Tara's body curving around her slender frame, and her scent filling her head with fuzzy thoughts. "You smell like lavender," she murmured as she nestled her head against Tara's shoulder.

"And you smell like strawberries," Tara returned as she dropped a gentle kiss on Willow's bowed head, a small smile curving her full lips.

"And together we smell like-"

"Popcorn!"

Shrieking as Xander's face suddenly appeared over the couch behind them, Willow practically fell onto the floor once more as her best friend placed an overflowing bowl of buttery popcorn on the couch before her. "Xander!"

"What?" the Scooby quickly responded, an innocent smile lifting his lips as he practically skipped around the couch and toppled onto the vacant cushion beside her. "You said to bring you a feast worthy of a Queen, and so I did. Popcorn - the feast of many Queens!"

"A worthy feast," Tara quickly agreed as she reached over to snag a few kernels of the buttery treat.

"A very worthy feast," Xander countered as he glared at his best friend, "and one that took many minutes in preparation. Which means that a little respect should be in order," he added as he crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest.

"Once you master the fine culinary art of Macaroni and Cheese, only _then_ will the respect be in order," Willow quickly returned with a cheeky smile as she went to snag a few kernels herself - only to let out a small cry of dismay as Xander quickly tugged the bowl free and settled it firmly out of the redhead's reach.

"What would be the use when we have a Tara?" Xander asked logically as he threw a few buttery pieces in the air and quickly tried to catch them in his open mouth.

Laughing as the dark-haired Scooby missed every single piece and as the popcorn scattered all over the couch and floor around him, Tara quickly reached over and pulled the bowl back into her own lap. "So is that the only reason that you guys keep me around then? To cook?"

Smiling slyly at her best friend, Willow quickly shook her head as she ran a slender finger down her lover's cheek. "Well, that and-"

"So, time to start the movie?" Xander quickly interrupted as he pointedly ignored Willow's baiting. Without waiting for an answer, he quickly snagged the remote and started the VCR.

Rolling her eyes at the two, Tara gently pushed Willow away as she allowed her brown-eyed gaze to settle on the characters that were just taking the screen before them. "What are we watching again?"

"A Charlie Brown Christmas," Xander quickly supplied as he sent her a very scandalized glare for daring to forget.

"It's tradition," Willow supplied with a small shrug.

"And one that must be undertaken in preparation for this once-in-a-lifetime event," Xander added as the familiar music began to fill the large room.

Confused, Tara turned to her friend with a small frown. "You've never celebrated Christmas before?"

"Not in a magical castle in England-"

"Scotland-"

"Whatever," Xander continued, rolling his eyes at Willow before turning back to Tara. "Plus, this is going to be the first time that _everyone_ has been together in... well, I think that this will be the first time," he finished, shrugging his broad shoulders helplessly. "And thus it needs a bit of trad-"

"Will you do the Snoopy dance?" Willow interrupted, her green eyes sparkling as she slid to the edge of her couch cushion.

"Willow! I told you to never... oh, alright," Xander finished, grinning impishly at his friends as he quickly abandoned his seat and slid into the center of the large room. "I now present you... Faith?" he asked, his dramatic intro falling short as the dark-haired slayer practically stalked into the room, her expression an odd and fearful mix between a scowl and a delighted smirk.

"D-d-do you.. do you want to join us?" Tara quickly stammered, unconsciously straightening on the couch as the slayer paused mid-flight for the front door.

"Can't. Patrol," she answered glibly before turning narrowed eyes to the television screen that Xander was frantically trying to cover. "No rest for the wicked," she continued, frowning at Xander's pathetic attempts to shield the merry movements of the Charlie Brown crew on the screen behind him. Then, as a door slammed elsewhere in the large house, Faith winced before quickly finishing off the distance to the front door. "When the Kid comes by, just tell her I'm waiting outside," she sighed as she pulled the door open, allowing the brisk December wind to filter through the door before her. "And," she added, pausing on the doorstep as she turned back to the trio with a feral grin, "if that overgrown windbag of hers gives her too much shit, tell him to shove it for me, will ya?"

Then, without giving any of them a chance to respond, the dark-haired slayer slipped out the front door and allowed the wind to slam it behind her. Frozen, the three turned to each other in stunned silence and remained as such until yet another person stormed into the room, this one a good four years younger, at least a few inches taller, yet just as flustered as the youngest slayer angrily shoved her arms into the sleeves of her black leather jacket - a 15th birthday gift from Faith.

"Celeste," Willow greeted somewhat tentatively as the girl looked up as though noticing them for the first time. "Faith, uh... Faith said that-"

"Celeste! Celeste, wait a minute!" another voice angrily interrupted as Bertrone stormed into the room, his tie hanging loose around his neck and his normally impeccable suit coat looking as though it had been buttoned in the dark. "What has gotten into you?" he demanded, his gray eyes flashing as he stopped before his slayer, their toes practically touching and his cheeks flushed.

For a moment, it looked as though Celeste wasn't even going to respond before her anger finally got the better of her. "The Slayer has gotten into me and you do not like it!" she returned, her voice low and even as her large blue eyes narrowed at the man that had raised her since she was a small child. "Monsieur, I finally understand what you have been trying to teach me since I was a petite enfant!" she stated, her words falling faster as her eyes flashed at him. "I understand now what it means to be-"

"You understand nothing!" Bertrone quickly cut in, his French accent blurring the words as he hurled them back at the girl.

"Non! I understand _everything!_" Celeste hissed as she angrily stepped forward until her nose was practically brushing against his. "It is all so _clear_ to me now! I am a Slayer-"

"And I am your Watcher! You will listen to what I say-"

"I will listen when you speak sense!" the slayer cut in as she slashed her hand angrily to the side. "I have done nothing but embrace my destiny-"

"You embrace the teaching of a... a... a _putain_!" Bertrone thundered, his words cutting a swath through Celeste's tirade and leaving them both standing in a shocked and horrified silence. For a moment that seemed to stretch into infinity, Slayer and Watcher glared at each other, both standing tall, tense, and with faces that were growing white even as splotches of red marked their fair countenances. Then, it was as though a dam had been released as Watcher and Slayer lit at each other; furious statements, arguments, and accusations hurtled at one another in rapid-fire French as the three Scoobies looked on in stunned silence. Then, what felt like an eternity, but was most likely only moments later, Celeste ended the fight as she angrily stomped her foot and then turned away, hurrying from the room with the speed of the slayer and slamming the front door behind her. A moment later, Bertrone followed suit as he angrily pivoted on his heel and stormed in the other direction - pausing for the slightest of moments to turn one last angry and saddened glance at the doorway before disappearing into the deep depths of the large house.

Trying vainly to find words to fill the thick silence that had muffled even the joyous sounds of the Snoopy gang behind him, Xander finally turned wide eyes to the two girls that were sitting opposite him, their mouths hanging open in a similar stunned fashion. "Did... did anyone catch what that was all about?" he finally asked, even though he knew as well as any of them what it was that had been tearing the Watcher and Slayer apart for close to two months now.

"I took Spanish in high school," Willow offered with a small shrug, her voice sounding much higher than usual.

"I-I-I don't... I don't think that-that-that Monsieur Bertrone likes Faith's influence on Celeste," Tara stammered as she quietly reached forward to turn off the movie that no longer seemed appropriate after what they had just witnessed.

"Why? Because she's making her fun?" Xander quickly asked, his sarcasm practically running over the brim as he shuffled towards them and settled on the long couch with a heavy sigh. "If I've learned anything from Buffy over the past four years, it's that you can't fight so that others can live when you're not living yourself."

"B-b-but he cares about Celeste-"

"Maybe too much," Willow sighed as she gently squeezed Tara's hand. "And that's part of his problem. He just doesn't want to see her get hurt."

"Then aside from Buffy," Xander quickly added, refusing to let the girls get the French watcher off the hook, "Faith is the best thing that's ever happened to Celeste. Faith will teach her what she needs to know in order to survive on the Hellmouth. She'll teach her how to live."

Sighing once more, Willow quickly shook her head. "Listen, I like Faith just as much as the rest of you, but Xander, even you have to admit that she's not the Poster Girl for the Slay-team. I mean... she's not the best role model for Celeste."

"Maybe not," Xander allowed with a small frown, "but it's the best that she's got."

Placing her hand on Willow's to stop the redhead from continuing in a debate that would get them nowhere, Tara slowly shook her head as she played her inevitable role as the peacemaker in the large household. "Listen, in just a little bit longer we're all going to be together again. Maybe.. maybe we can have Giles talk to Monsieur Bertrone and maybe Buffy can even spend a little bit of time with Celeste - get to know her a little."

"And keep this from getting any worse," Willow added with a small frown. "Because I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm done with soap operas."

"And how are you with classic cartoons full of song, dance, and much in the way of merriment?" Xander asked with a small smile as he pointedly picked up the VCR remote once more. And then, without waiting for a response he quickly pushed a button and allowed the cartoon's gentle noise to wash over them once more - a nice calm in the wave of the storm of their lives.

* * *

"Hey, watch it!"

Gasping, the dark-haired man tore through the crowded streets of San Francisco, brown robes billowing around his bent form as hands clenched convulsively around the narrow shaft of wood that was hidden within one voluminous sleeve. Frantic brown eyes sifted through the many people that littered the sunny sidewalk and the trolleys that swept past him, always searching for the two beings that seemed to haunt his every step - always one step behind and gaining, pushing him to his limits and beyond. So far, Sirius had been lucky as he'd been able to avoid using magic before them. But with each day the noose seemed to tighten as the hell gods became more relentless in their pursuit and their anger far greater. It was a chase that they were quickly tiring of, and one that Sirius was unsure he could keep up for much longer.

Suddenly the crowds seemed to thicken before him as the many tourists ignored his shouted pleas and hindered his movements. Feeling the press of time, the wizard's frantic eyes searched desperately around him - and then froze as the crowds parted behind him as two tall, slender beings stepped through the masses as effortlessly as a ship cutting through a small ocean swell. The cold December sun beat down upon their heads, causing the young woman's cascade of red curls to sparkle like rubies while her companion's soft curls glittered like a dark opal. Instantly, he felt the cold weight of their piercing gaze fall upon him, a slow smile lifting their perfectly shaped lips. As one they started forward, their eyes never straying and their concentration locked on Sirius' frozen form.

"No," Sirius whispered as the weathered hand, so different from his own, tightened around the cool wood of his wand. Paralysis broken, he quickly spun about and surged through the thick crowds, heedless of the cries and curses that were directed at his bent form as he pushed through the people that blocked his way. But even as he waded through the masses, he knew that there would be no escaping the gods this day and especially not in this manner. He had allowed them to get too close this time, and after having already witnessed their impossible speed, strength, and complete indifference to those around him, the wizard knew that his time was limited - a fact that was proven as a hand wrapped in the back of his robes and practically lifted him off of his feet as he was twisted around.

Grunting, Sirius barely had time to steady his feet before five deceptively long, slender fingers wrapped around his neck and lifted him effortlessly from the ground. Feet dangling in the air, the wizard lifted his tired brown eyes and met the cool gray orbs of Serantine, the goddess' perfectly sculpted pink lips lifted in a coy smile that flashed the whitest of teeth. Gasping, he felt his lungs scream for oxygen as his vision began to dim around the perfect halo of beauty that stood before him.

"My precious, precious Monk," she whispered, her voice a cascade of tinkling bells that seemed to carry over the surprised voices of the anxious crowd of onlookers, the muggles' eyes locked on the sight of the beautiful woman holding the man effortlessly above her. "What a chase you have given us."

"An unfortunate chase," Dahm added darkly as he stepped beside Serantine, his eyes coldly taking in the monk.

"But one that is now over," Ser added with a sweet smile - a smile that quickly turned into a frown as a few men broke hesitantly away from the crowd, obviously torn in indecision. On one hand, there was the man that was dressed in the brown clothes of a holy man that was being accosted and turning a very frightening shade of purple. On the other, the man's attacker also happened to be the most breathtaking sight that any had ever seen before. Thus the dilemma.

"Ma'am, I think you're hurting him," one of the men stammered, his eyes straying to the man that seemed to be on the verge of losing consciousness.

"Not nearly as much as he will be hurting," Ser returned with a serene smile as her eyes turned away from her captive - which was just the distraction that Sirius had been waiting for as in that moment, a sharp crack tore through the air as the beleaguered man disappeared before the crowd's astonished eyes. Fingers closing in on themselves, the goddess stumbled backward as the weight that she had been countering vanished, throwing her off balance and against her fellow god.

"Where's the monk?" Dahm growled, his violet eyes narrowing in fury as he turned to his companion.

Hissing between clenched teeth, Ser opened her clenched hand and then turned her stormy gray eyes to the tall being before her. "I would have thought it obvious," she returned, her voice dangerously low and dripping with venom. "For if I'm not mistaken, it would seem that our Monk has picked up a few tricks since we tortured him last. Perhaps if you hadn't of let my dinner run off with him the last time, we wouldn't be here now! We wouldn't have spent the last five weeks chasing after him like a pair of hunting dogs after a common duck! We would have had our KEY already!"

"So this is my fault, is it then?" Dahm returned with a loud, very un-god-like snort. "If I'm not mistaken, it was your hands that he just slipped through! If you hadn't-"

Shaking his head wryly, Sirius watched as the two hell gods waged war upon each other from the relative safety of a nearby rooftop. Gingerly he lifted one hand to gently finger his tender throat, knowing that it would be turning a nasty and mottled variation of blues, purples, and greens within a few hours. Then again, a bruised neck seemed like a small price to pay for his life and the chance to continue the chase - if only a little bit longer. But for how much longer he would be able to hold the interest of the Hell Gods... well, that was certainly the real question. 

Even as the hell gods began trading blows below - hits so powerful that the crowd smartly began to scatter as the sidewalk cracked beneath their hurtled forms, buildings crumbling behind them - Sirius already began to plan how he would hide the injury for his fire call to Harry that night. Aside from the occasional visit from Remus, always arriving with a freshly brewed stock of Polyjuice Potion, his scheduled chats with his godson were the only thing that he looked forward to.... the only thing he really lived for anymore. 

Sighing, Sirius slowly pushed himself to his feet and lifted his wand once more as he thought of all that he had to finish before he could apparate to Hogwarts the following morning. At least there he would be able to give Poppy a visit and hopefully get the worst of the bruising taken care of before any of the others arrived. Tomorrow, after all, was Christmas Eve, and even if two days hardly seemed like enough time to be reunited with friends and family, it was all that any of them could afford. Therefore, they would just have to make it enough.

**To be continued...**

Translations: putain = whore (very vulgar)


	9. Chapter 9

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 9"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

* * *

Grimacing as another icy chunk slid down the back of her heavy, down-filled jacket, Buffy led the way into the open stone foyer of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry amidst the quiet snickers of one Harry Potter. "This isn't over, and you know it," she muttered, green eyes lifting to glare at her boyfriend as Harry trailed in behind her, two large black duffels falling to his snow-covered feet.

"I'm sure you'll try," Harry agreed amiably as he shook the wet, sticky snow from his wind-blown black hair, his green eyes dancing as he unzipped his heavy muggle jacket and used the hem of his sweater to clean the lenses of his black, wire-rimmed glasses.

"Oh, there's not going to be any 'try' about it," Buffy quickly returned as she slid out of her heavy jacket and threw it at Harry - smiling smartly as the wet material nearly took him off his feet. Their journey from the bitter north of Russia had been thankfully short thanks to the portkey that Samuel had provided a few days earlier, instantly transporting them to the center of Hogsmede where they had been able to do a little bit of shopping before the two then made the snowy trek to Hogwarts. What Buffy hadn't been counting on was the magically-inclined volley of cold, wet snowballs that had assaulted her from all sides during the last few minutes of the journey. The one that, judging by the smirk that even now twisted Harry's lips, had been all his doing. "I'll show _him_ a little wandless magic," Buffy grumbled, just loud enough for Harry to catch every syllable as she finally turned her eyes to the massive stone foyer, her previous bad mood melting beneath the warm memories that the ancient stonework brought to mind. "Welcome h-" the small slayer began as she turned towards Harry, a bright smile on her face that seemed to freeze as a small popping noise announced the arrival of four more people to the large room. Turning, Buffy felt her smile slip a little bit more as her eyes swept over the new group. The tall, dark-skinned guy that looked around her age was a stranger, while the voluptuous dark-haired beauty, the stately looking man with the glasses, and the tall, broad-shouldered vampire with the soulful eyes were all too recognizable.

"Buffy," Angel murmured, his brown eyes instantly falling upon Buffy's slender figure even as Cordelia, Wesley, and the stranger grappled with each other after the instantaneous mode of travel.

"Angel," Buffy returned, a small, timid smile lifting her lips as her eyes locked with his. "You took a portkey?"

"A bit sunny outside," Angel returned evenly with a small nod to the outside world.

"Nope - blizzard," Buffy countered, memories of their first and last snow storm running through her mind. That morning, the falling snow had saved Angel from taking his own life while beneath the First Evil's influence. That morning, someone had been watching out for the vampire... most likely that same someone that had decided that Buffy and Angel were never meant to be. Sighing, Buffy quickly willed away the thoughts of that time, so long ago, and instead turned to Harry, trying once more to fill the awkward silence. "I'm sure you all must remember Harry," she stated as she gestured to her boyfriend, smiling softly at him as he nodded his head at the group. "And Harry, you remember Angel, Cordelia, Wesley and..." pausing, Buffy once more took in the stranger that accompanied her old friends. "And I don't know you," she added, as blunt as ever.

"Charles Gunn," the guy replied as he stepped forward with a warm smile, holding his hand out to both. "But everyone just calls me Gunn."

"Gunn's been working with us for the past few months," Angel supplied, his eyes never quite leaving Buffy's. "He's a good friend."

"Then it's nice to meet you," Buffy returned, smiling warmly at the new addition to the LA group. But as the hands fell to their sides and the introductions were concluded, the awkward silence that seemed to plague such reunions quickly returned. An awkward silence that was, of course, focused around the fact that Angel couldn't quite take his eyes from the small slayer and Buffy seemed to be able to look just about everywhere but at Angel himself.

Rolling his eyes, Harry quickly took it upon himself to break the silence and to hopefully rid them of it for the duration of the holidays. "Well," he began as he cleared his throat, pointedly forcing everyone to stop staring at the former couple. "I'm sure that you both have some catching up to do. And if you'd like, I can show the rest of you to the Great Hall and we can see if any of the others have arrived yet," he offered, smiling at the other three as he lifted both he and Buffy's duffels once more.

"Here, let me help you," Wesley quickly offered as he took one of Harry's duffels while the others split the baggage between the other two.

Smiling her thanks, Buffy quickly squeezed Harry's hand before watching the four disappear down the side hall. Turning, she finally allowed her gaze to rest on her former lover, a small smile playing at her lips. "Would you like to go for a walk? I can show you a bit of the castle," she offered as she gestured to the grand staircase that swept up before them.

"I'd like that," Angel agreed, nodding his head and indicating for her to lead the way.

For a few minutes, the two moved as such, silently roaming the cold stone halls as the occasional student swept past them in their black wizarding robes, all eyeing them with open curiosity. Smiling wryly, Buffy couldn't help but be reminded of the same curious looks she had drawn close to a year ago when she had been a resident of Hogwarts. Even in the midst of a war-torn community, her muggle clothing had still been a sharp contrast to the clothing of the wizarding folk that had populated the castle. It seemed that in some ways, times hadn't changed.

"Why is everyone staring at us?" Angel finally asked, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen between them as yet another student swept past, wide eyes devouring the mismatched couple.

"Because we're dressed like muggles," Buffy returned evenly, a small grin lifting her lips as she turned critical eyes to her stylish black cargos and her heavy red sweater - and then rolled her eyes at Angel's typical ensemble of dark pants, a dark shirt, and a black duster that trailed behind his lean form. "Some more fashionably than others," she added as she pointedly nodded at the vampire's dark clothing.

"Don't start," Angel quickly cut in as he sighed heavily. "I already hear it enough from Cordelia," he added before turning gentle brown eyes towards the small slayer. "How have you been?" he asked, his hands quickly becoming buried in the deep pockets of his jacket as he allowed his feet to carry him to one snow-covered window that looked out into a darkened grounds.

"Oh, you know," Buffy began nonchalantly as she followed Angel to the window and reclined back against the cool glass. "Attacked by monks, turned into a mystical Key-thingie, avoiding a pair of Hell Gods, and working for the Watcher's Council with Harry. You?"

Smiling wryly at Buffy's glib passing of her roller coaster few months, Angel quickly waved away her question as he replied in kind. "The same," he said, shrugging lightly as a small smile lifted his lips. "I've just been tag-teamed by Darla, Drusilla, and Spike. Trying to drive me crazy - although it probably would have worked a lot better if they hadn't had Spike along. He never was one for mind games," he added with a slight smile.

"Yeah - he always was more for the kill and be killed," Buffy agreed before frowning thoughtfully. "And I thought Darla was dead."

"She was," Angel agreed, a flash of pain visible behind his weary brown eyes as he turned once more to the snowy world outside. "Wolfram and Hart, an evil law firm, brought her back as a human and then Drusilla turned her... again," he explained, realizing for the first time just how ridiculous most of their exploits sounded when a person wasn't there to live through them.

"Oh... neat," Buffy deadpanned even as Angel sighed heavily beside her.

"The others called a few months ago," he began, trying and failing to hide his hurt as Buffy reluctantly met his eyes, "to let us know what was going on, and to let us know that you had turned up." And as a pregnant pause built and gathered strength between them, Angel took the final plunge that explained the real reason behind the awkward silences that had built between them just after making things right that night in Sunnydale over six months ago. "Why didn't you come to me? I would have-"

"I couldn't," Buffy quickly cut in as she rest one hand on his arm. "Harry and I only found out that we were running from something a few months ago, and since then everything's been happening so fast..."

"I was worried about you," Angel murmured as he lifted his hands and cupped her face between his palms. "I'm still worried about you," he admitted seriously as his gaze bore into her own, searching for something and finding himself both relieved and disappointed when he couldn't see it.

Smiling, Buffy lifted one hand and rest it against his, leaning into his familiar touch. "Angel, I'm alright," she assured. "I'm strong again, and besides, Harry's been watching my back," she added, knowing that she had to even as the pain flashed through Angel's eyes.

Sighing, Angel allowed his hands to drop back to his sides as he nodded slowly, forcing a smile past the pain that her words brought. "He's taking good care of you," he murmured, more statement than question.

"We're taking good care of each other," Buffy quickly corrected, a warm smile lifting her lips as she thought of her many adventures with the young wizard.

"And he takes you into the sun," Angel added, remembering his long-ago hopes for the small slayer.

Smiling sadly, Buffy slowly nodded her head. "He does," she whispered, her eyes slipping away to the snow-covered grounds that were hidden behind a blanket of white outside the narrow window.

"You know that I'll never stop loving you, right?"

"I do," Buffy agreed, pulling her eyes away from the window as she craned her head back and looked up into Angel's beautiful brown eyes. "Just as, in my own way, I'll never stop loving you. That hasn't changed, Angel, and it never will," she promised as he gently pulled her close, strong arms wrapping around her small frame as Buffy rest her head gently against his chest, his familiar scent filling her nose.

Sighing, Angel relished in the feel of the small slayer in his embrace before slowly bending down to drop a cool, chaste kiss on her forehead. Reluctantly, he slowly pulled away, a small, genuine smile lifting his lips as he nodded back in the direction that they had wandered. "We should probably get back to the others," he stated, waiting for Buffy's nod before the two began retracing their steps.

"Worried about them?" Buffy teased as she amiably linked arms with her old friend.

"More worried about how many people Cordelia has already insulted," Angel quickly returned with a small, knowing smile.

Pausing for a moment, Buffy quickly thought over the vampire's words before increasing their pace. "Good point," she conceded, wincing at the thought of all of the damage that could have already been inflicted. After all, while some things were bound to change with the passage of time, others, sadly, never stood a chance.

* * *

As Buffy and Angel swept through the massive doors to the castle's Great Hall, the small slayer couldn't help her small sigh of relief as her eyes quickly fell upon the group from Los Angeles who were harmlessly ensconced in the Sunnydale contingent. "Catastrophe averted," she sighed, weakly lifting her hand in a quick wave to Willow and Xander even as Angel broke away and headed towards their friends. Smiling, Buffy was about to do the same when the doors opened behind her, admitting some more guests to the Great Hall.

"Buffy!"

Turning, the slayer barely had time to open her arms before she was swept up in a tight hug that left her toes brushing the ground. Grinning, Buffy felt her feet touch ground again as she tilted her head back to take in Jarod's excited brown eyes. "Jarod!" Buffy returned, impulsively hugging him once more before turning to smile warmly at the tall, leggy brunette and the older, sandy-haired man beside her. "And Miss Parker and Sydney," she continued, disentangling herself from the tall Pretender to briefly hug the older woman and the psychiatrist that accompanied them. "I didn't know if you were going to be able to make it," she added, grinning as she took in the tasteful pair of dark pants that seemed almost sewn onto Miss Parker's incredibly long legs. With both Miss Parker and Faith around for the holidays, it was practically guaranteed that the students that _had_ chosen to remain at Hogwarts would certainly have a few stories to tell when their fellow classmates returned.

Eyes narrowing suspiciously upon the candles that floated above their heads and illuminated the ceiling towering stories above them, mirroring the snow-strewn world outside the castle walls, Miss Parker couldn't help but snort at Buffy's words. "And miss out on a chance to see an enchanted castle?" she asked wryly as she nodded pointedly at the Pretender who was obviously as captivated by the magic that filled the room as his mentor who stood gawking beside him. "Jarod wouldn't let us."

"Well where's Broots?" Buffy asked, searching for the gangly computer technician who always seemed to shadow Miss Parker's movements.

"Spending the holidays with his daughter, Debbie," Sydney supplied in his softly accented voice, eyes flickering past the small girl to take in the adults that swept into the room behind them. The adults that were garbed in the strangest clothing that the psychiatrist had ever seen - which was saying quite a bit. Trying to hide his shock, Sydney allowed his eyes to sweep over a tall, wizened man in long, magenta robes and a tall pointed hat with a gray beard that seemed to almost sweep the stone floors before him. Beside him stood a tall, slender woman cloaked in dark robes and with a tall, pointed hat sitting atop her graying hair, small beady eyes staring out above thin lips that were turned in a stern line. Next to the woman stood a man that instantly caused the psychiatrist to take a small step back as he took in the man's fierce scowl, dark eyes, hooked nose and greasy black hair that was parted before a pale face, robes the color of the deepest night flaring around his tall frame. And lastly stood the person that seemed the greatest contradiction to all three - and the one that Buffy quickly threw herself at.

"Hagrid!" she cried, a broad smile lifting her lips as the small slayer threw herself into the open arms of the half-giant.

"Buffy," Hagrid quickly greeted with a bright smile as she quickly disentangled herself from the hairy man before embracing Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore - and freezing, arms extended before her, as she came face to face with Professor Snape and a glare that would have deterred even a basilisk.

"Right," Buffy stated, arms dropping to her side as she quickly turned to beam at the others.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Miss Summers," Professor Dumbledore said, smiling warmly at the small slayer, his blue eyes twinkling as he turned to take in the muggles that stood behind her. "And welcome to those who are visiting our castle for the first time."

"You must be Headmaster Dumbledore," Jarod quickly stated, his grin broadening as he eagerly took in the wizard's eccentric clothing.

"And you must be the Jarod of so many last names," Dumbledore returned with a small smile as he took in the man's childlike wonder. "I have heard many wonderful things about you, your colleagues, and your work from both Buffy and Mister Fellows with the Council of Watchers." Smiling, he turned and nodded his head to his companions. "I would like to introduce my Deputy Headmistress and Professor of Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall, our groundskeeper and Professor of Care of Magical Creatures, Professor Hagrid, and our esteemed Potions Master and Professor, Professor Snape."

Shaking everyone's hand in turn, save Professor Snape, Jarod quickly turned to begin his introductions, and, seeing that they seemed in good hands, Buffy took that opportunity to quietly excuse herself - only to be accosted by the room's newest additions. Grinning despite herself, Buffy soon found herself wrapped in the arms of her watcher as the long-awaited, and seemingly never-ending, reunion continued.

* * *

Shaking his head wryly, Harry closed the portrait door to a chorus of high-pitched goodbyes and the loud, sobbing wails of another as he simultaneously tried to juggle the many different treats that had been shoved into his protesting hands. Apparently Dobby hadn't truly expected Harry to stick to his promise to drop by the kitchens for a quick visit during his next trip to Hogwarts, and upon seeing that the famed wizard would actually take the time to visit he and the other house elves, the short elf had quickly burst into a torrent of wet, sopping tears even as his overwhelmed friends forced Harry's favorite treats upon him.

"Never again," he vowed, his eyes falling upon the painted pear that marked the hidden entrance to the castle's large kitchen and home to the house elves. Sighing, he stared at the mounds of treats that were piled in his leather-clad arms as he slowly made his way back to the foyer and the Great Hall beyond. To think that only a short six months ago he would have been delighted by the generosity of the house elves as he, Ron, and Hermione paid the kitchens an almost weekly visit. Today, however, he had far too many other things on his mind and treats happened to be far from the list. Then again, it had been far too long since he had been able to indulge in his favorite treacle tart that was wrapped somewhere in the pile, or in the frothy pumpkin juice that was bottled somewhere close to his left hand, or the-

With a thunderous clatter, Harry's thoughts were quickly scattered as he crashed into someone before him, the many assorted treats raining down around them. Grunting, Harry staggered back, barely remaining on his feet as he quickly adjusted his glasses, wide green eyes lifting to take in the army of redheads that he had unwittingly walked right into. "Percy!" he cried, mouth falling open as he took in the treacle tart that had been smeared across the older boy's otherwise immaculate, pressed robes.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley quickly returned, a bright smile lifting her lips as she ignored her middle child's indignant sputtering and stepped over the mess to encase Harry in a smothering embrace. "How have you been, dear?" she questioned as she released her strangle hold long enough to hold him at arm's length, her eyes scouring over his tall form and a small, puzzled frown pulling at her lips as she took in his loose jeans, heavy sweater and leather jacket that hung open around his lean frame. "Why Harry dear, whatever are you wearing?" she murmured, obviously unsure whether she should smile or frown at the boy's odd clothing.

"Mum, it's only muggle dress," another voice quickly cut in as Bill nudged his mother aside long enough to clap Harry on the shoulder, his freckled face lifted in a large grin as he jerked his head towards his younger brother. "And it seems as though Harry's been to the kitchens already."

"I was visiting Dobby," Harry admitted as Mr. Weasley stepped beside them, another baked good squishing beneath his shoes as he lifted a pointed wizards hat and scratched at his balding head.

"Dobby, you say?"

"Malfoy's house elf that Harry liberated from the bonds of slavery," Charlie explained with a roll of his eyes as he rescued the miraculously unbroken bottle of butterbeer from the wreckage.

"Which is a lot more than can be said for the rest of the house elves that are even now suffering the injustice of discrimination in this-"

"Nice going, Charlie," Ron sighed as he pushed past his brothers, his eyes darting back over his shoulders at something that was hidden behind the large family. "Way to get her-"

"And I heard that, Ronald Weasley," Hermione cut in as she rudely shoved her boyfriend to the side, her cheeks tinged pink - either from the cold weather outside or anger, Harry couldn't tell - before her eyes fell on her best friend. "Harry, you made it!" she cried out, nimbly jumping a small pound cake as she threw her arms around the taller teen, her eyes shining happily. "How long have you been here? Where's Buffy?"

"Only a few minutes," Harry returned as he gently squeezed the tall girl. "I've been down to the kitchens-"

"I thought that we already established that," Percy interrupted, a small scowl twisting his freckled features as he continued to wipe dismally at the confections that stained his dark robes.

"-to visit Dobby," Harry continued as Ron, Bill, and Charlie each broke out into a round of quiet snickering, much to Percy's anger and their mother's fierce scowl. "I think everyone else is already in the Great Hall."

"Well then," Miss Weasley promptly cut in, her eyes daring any of the children to continue to tease their brother, "why don't you three go and fetch Ginny from the Gryffindor Tower while we get this mess cleaned up?" she asked, somehow doing it in a way that revealed that it was more of an order than a request.

Nodding quickly, Harry, Ron and Hermione quickly took the avenue of escape when it was offered and vaulted and slid through the remaining mess and made for the grand stairs that would lead into the familiar halls of the castle. Within minutes Percy's loud complaints and Molly's rebukes were muffled by the thick stone and a comfortable silence fell over the infamous trio as they walked through the quiet halls.

"Seems kind of weird being back, doesn't it?" Hermione finally asked, a small, sad smile twisting her lips as she ran a hand through her long, auburn hair. "I keep thinking that I should find my school robes, or something," she added as she cast her gaze down to the long muggle skirt and sweater that she wore.

"I'm just waiting for Filch to come around the corner with that stupid cat of his in hopes of pinning _ something_ on us," Ron agreed, shuddering slightly as they deftly made their way through the quiet halls.

"Or even worse, Snape," Harry argued, grinning as Ron blanched beside him.

"Oy! But it's the holidays! We're not going to have to see that greasy-"

"Ron, Professor Snape is a professor at this school-"

"Not _my_ professor," Ron quickly cut in with a bright grin. "And I can tell you already that I've already got my new best memory picked out for the next time that I have to cast a patronus charm: the day that I realized that I would never have to see the slimy git again!" he stated proudly as he quickly ducked to Harry's other side, swiftly avoiding Hermione's half-hearted swipe.

"Oh yes, because I'm so sure that a Dementor will be paying Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes a visit in the near future," the bright ex-Gryffindor promptly retorted as she rolled her eyes dramatically.

Grinning at the familiar routine that the friends had already fallen into, Harry quickly interrupted the little argument as he turned down another twisting hallway. "How has business been?" he asked, turning to his taller friend as Ron quickly beamed at the question.

"Booming, actually," Ron admitted with a small grin as he waved casually to the dark robes that he sported - the dark robes that, as Harry noticed for the first time, looked to be of extremely high quality and, even more amazing, seemed custom tailored to his friend's height. "Fred and George were many things, but I'll be the first to admit that brilliant was never a word that I associated with the two. Yet they really knew what they were doing."

"He, Bill and Charlie have made the store such a success that they can barely keep up with the demand of the customers," Hermione added proudly as she draped an arm over her boyfriend's shoulders.

"It's not us," Ron quickly denied as he cast his eyes over the castle with suspiciously bright eyes. "We can't take credit for the Twins' work - we're just keeping it going. Besides, according to Ginny, they've become legendary here at Hogwarts."

"And you remember Lee, right?"

"Lee Jordan?" Harry clarified as he thought back to the older Gryffindor that had been inseparable from the twins.

"He's the Quidditch announcer for the home stadium of the Puddlemere United team," Ron explained, grinning unabashedly at his friend. "And Lee never starts a match without first mentioning Fred and George and the shop. He says that it's his way of keeping the legend alive," he added with a small shrug.

Smiling, Harry was about to respond when a couple of familiar voices drifted down the hallway that they had just entered. Freezing, Harry's eyes quickly swept the long hall, feeling a wave of deja vu as they settled on his godfather's lean form and the shorter, more bent form of his best friend as the two swept out of the infirmary and then froze as they noticed the three teens further down the hall. Without a word, Harry quickly bolted forward, his feet eating up the distance in seconds as he threw himself at his godfather, his arms wrapping tight around his shoulders even as the older man returned the tight embrace. For a moment, the rest of the world disappeared as Harry reveled in Sirius' tight, comforting grip - assuring himself that his godfather was really there before him, in one piece and no longer playing the deadly game of cat and mouse with the hell gods that Harry had been forced to avoid.

Harry was no longer a child, that was true, but that didn't mean that he didn't need his godfather and guardian any less - that he didn't spend many sleepless hours each night worrying about the danger that his godfather had placed himself in in order to keep he and Buffy safe. No matter what comforting words Buffy or the others spoke, they did little to dispel the cloud of uncertainty and danger that constantly surrounded his godfather.

"This seems strangely familiar somehow," Ron commented idly as he and Hermione joined Remus as Sirius and Harry slowly, and reluctantly pulled away.

"Yes, whatever were you doing in the infirmary _this_ time?" Hermione added, her eyes narrowing slightly as Sirius instantly turned to scowl at the girl. Nonplussed, Hermione smiled primly at the older man as she entwined fingers with Ron. "Well?"

Sighing, Sirius absently rubbed his neck, cursing the fact that Hermione had always been just a little too bright for her own good. "I let the hell gods get a little too close the other day, that's all," he stated, purposely avoiding Harry's eyes as Remus smiled at him sympathetically. Then again, even if the smile showed his sympathy to his friend's plight, the fact still remained that Remus was staying safely out of this one.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, frowning as his eyes scoured his godfather and sighing softly as he realized that whatever damage had been done, Madam Pomfrey had obviously already done her job and erased any outward sign. And while Sirius had regained his lost weight from his time in Azkaban, his godfather had always been more wiry than anything and always garbed in robes that were loose enough to hide his thinness - even then. However, Harry had to admit that at least Sirius actually _looked_ like Sirius at the moment. For some reason, he couldn't help but think that the reunion would have been at least the slightest bit soured when his favored godfather instead resembled one of the men that had attacked he and Buffy in Switzerland almost four months ago. "Are you alright?" he finally repeated when it looked as though Sirius wasn't going to answer.

"Harry, I'm fine," Sirius reassured as he ruffled his godson's hair, a small, genuine smile lifting his lips. "Don't worry so much," he added as he turned and casually glanced at a small wristwatch that was flashing all sorts of bright colors. "And we better get back to the Great Hall before they start dinner without us," he added as he began ambling down the hall in the direction that the trio had just come from.

"You guys go on without us," Hermione quickly offered as she linked arms with Ron and began pulling him in the other direction. "We'll fetch Ginny and then meet you down there," she added before practically dragging the taller teen away.

Rolling his eyes in defeat, Harry watched the two disappear around a corner before turning to watch Sirius casually stroll away, before finally turning back to his old DADA professor and favored 'uncle.' "How do you do it?" he asked as he nodded towards his godfather's retreating back.

"How do you?" Remus returned with a small smile as he inclined his head in the direction that Ron and Hermione had just taken.

For a moment, Harry considered the question before shaking his head. "Good point," he conceded before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around his old professor in a loose hug. "I've missed my family," he whispered, knowing the werewolf could hear him as he squeezed the man's thin shoulders before slowly stepping back. And then, before Remus could comment he quickly grinned at the older man and nodded towards Sirius' disappearing back. "Now let's get going before Buffy finishes off the entire feast without us."

"You know, for someone so small, it's hard to imagine that she could possibly eat a great deal," Remus returned casually as their long strides quickly ate up the distance between them and Sirius.

"That's what I keep telling her," Harry sighed as he shook his head with a fond smile. "But you try standing between a slayer and a tub of Cookie Dough Fudge Mint Chip ice cream and then try telling me that."

* * *

Sighing contentedly, Buffy patted her flat stomach as she leaned back in one of the cushioned chairs that Professor McGonagall had transfigured specifically for the Christmas feast, the slayer's dirty dishes disappearing from the table before her. "Now that's what I call all kinds of yum," she stated as her eyes drifted down the crowded table that was filled with students, teachers, witches, wizards, wiccans, slayers, watchers, muggles, and the lone vampire. Smiling at the odd mixture, she couldn't help but realize once more how much this Christmas must differ from past holidays for the castle's usual inhabitants.

"You could say that again," Xander added with a soft groan as he eyed his half-eaten dish of Christmas pudding. "I don't think I've ever seen so much food!"

"Or eaten that much, I'd imagine," Remus offered as he pointedly looked at the swollen middle that Xander was now cradling, a small sheen of sweat breaking out on the young man's forehead.

"Blame it on my mom," the Californian groaned as he began waving away the remnants of his dessert, his face beginning to turn a bit green. "She never let me leave the table until my plate was cleaned and my natural off switch was effectively demolished nearly fifteen years ago."

"Which does explain the new padding," Buffy added, grinning as Xander scowled in her direction.

"Well I still think it's some wacked shit when all this food just pops outta nowhere," Gunn commented as his empty plate disappeared from the table. Frowning, he bent low and ran a hand on the smooth wood beneath the table.

"It's called magic, Einstein," Cordelia stated, smiling smugly at her friend even as she slapped at the hand that was trying to make away with her last bite of turkey - and yelping at the head that suddenly floated up and through the table before her. "I hate it when they do that," she muttered, crossly eyeing the ghost of Sir Nicholas as he floated through the table and then straight through the new slayer, Celeste, who was sitting opposite of her.

As the slayer tried to repress a scream, Gunn quickly shook his head as he turned back to the odd assortment of people that filled the large room. "So you're saying that you don't find any of this a bit... unnatural?" he pressed, grimacing as the blonde slayer and her raven-haired boyfriend both dove towards a chocolate frog that was busy hopping down the middle of the table, the two bumping heads and allowing the chocolate creation to hop free - and straight into Angel's goblet of blood, the crimson drops spraying Xander and a slender, red-haired witch that was sitting on his other side.

"Ah man!" Xander quickly whined as he practically fell out of his chair. "I got Dead Boy's dinner all over me!"

"I-i-is that blood?" Ginny Weasley asked from beside him, her face draining of all color and her dark freckles becoming a stark contrast on her white cheeks.

"Unnatural?" Jarod asked from his place opposite of the dark-skinned young man. "I find it fascinating!" he said, his brown eyes shining eagerly as he continued to twist back and forth in his seat while the beautiful brunette beside him merely sighed at his behavior. "It's as though the laws of physics have no bounds-"

"Besides," Hermione added smartly as she leaned closer to the on-going discussion, "wizarding magic is no more unnatural to a muggle than muggle technology is to a wizard."

"Yo Bright Eyes," Faith cut in, grinning as Hermione raised startled, confused eyes towards her. "Was that English you just spoke?"

"The Queen's English, yes," Wesley quickly replied for the young woman as he sniffed disdainfully at the dark-haired slayer. "And let me just say what a relief it is to hear it once more. It is much more civilized than that drabble that you Americans pretend to-"

"Oui, and I have found that British English is very... ah, how do you say... structured? - than that which is spoken in America," Celeste offered with a small smile as the former watcher continued with his rambling diatribe to whoever would listen, which, oddly enough, consisted solely of a rather attentive Percy Weasley, a polite French watcher, and a few ghosts.

"Who wants structure?" Buffy quickly interrupted as she leaned across Willow to wave Harry's drumstick at the younger slayer.

"Well certainly not you," Giles retorted as he quickly snatched the bone from his slayer's small hands and placed it back on the table with a small sigh.

"Hey, I'm good with structure," Buffy exclaimed, trying and failing to look indignantly at her watcher. "Maybe," she amended with a small, wicked smile. "I mean, you can't be the Slayer for five years and not have some kind of... structure."

"Can destruction be a type of structure?" Sirius asked innocently as he pointedly patted his chest over the ribs that Buffy had accidentally broken upon their first meeting.

"Or how about drugging?" Harry added helpfully as Buffy glared balefully at him while Giles practically choked on the tea that he had been sipping.

"Or there's always snogging," Ron threw in even as he effectively dodged the assorted desserts that both Buffy and Harry lobbed in his direction.

"Or maybe this ends now before I show you all what a slayer is really capable of," Buffy broke in, her frown doing little to hide her amusement as she glared at the table at large.

For a moment, it almost looked as though Buffy had gotten her wish when Gunn quickly threw the small slayer a grin. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'd sure like to see that." And as Cordelia turned to him with an incredulous glare, he quickly shrugged his tee-shirt clad shoulders. "What?" he asked, his dark eyes turning back to the others. "I've been hearing a lot about what a slayer can do, but so far, I haven't seen any of the _three_ slayers do jack shit. So how 'bout a little demonstration for the curious?"

It only took Buffy a moment to think through his request before a bright grin lifted her lips. To be honest, it had been far too long since she had had the opportunity to fight beside a fellow slayer - months, really. And secretly, no matter how much of a work out the various demons from around the world provided to her on a nightly basis, she still always longed for the feeling of fighting someone that actually came close to matching the true prowess of a slayer. During the first years of her calling, Angel had stepped up to be her sparring partner. Later it was Faith. And now... and now she was being presented the opportunity to spar against not only one slayer, but two. "How 'bout it?" she asked, turning to her sister slayers with a mischievous grin. "No holds barred, no sides?"

Smiling slyly, Faith cast a quick glance down the table and inclined her head to the youngest slayer, waiting for her tentative nod before clapping her hands together and pushing back from the long table. "Why not?" she asked, spreading her arms wide as she turned back to the first slayer. "Have I ever turned down the chance to publicly wipe the floor with your ass, B? And if I don't, the Kid may very well do the work for me," she added as she nodded to where the youngest slayer was quickly climbing to her feet.

Laughing, Buffy turned and, seeing that they had the entire hall's attention anyway, quickly searched out the headmaster from the sea of faces, finally locating him towards the end of the long table, his twinkling blue eyes locked on the three slayers. "Professor Dumbledore, is there somewhere in the castle where we can... well, you know," she finished as she gestured at she and her fellow slayers as they gathered beside her.

Smiling benignly at the three girls, the aged wizard slowly cast his eyes to the professors that were seated beside him before slowly climbing to his feet, his festive red and green robes falling around his long frame. "While I had hoped for a bit of caroling to finish off the evening, a good match between slayers could be a more lively bit of entertainment," he said as he winked at the girls.

"Albus, I must-"

"Consider it an educational experience for the students," Dumbledore interrupted as McGonagall's lips drew in a thin, disapproving line, his blue eyes turning to the handful of students that had remained for the holidays and who were staring at the three girls in wide-eyed amazement. Turning, the headmaster cast his gaze around the large room that had been emptied save the long table that they all occupied. "And where better to watch the evening's entertainment than here?" he asked as he lifted his wand from the voluminous sleeves of his robe and muttered a quick incantation. Seconds later a large mat the size of a small classroom fell to the floor a few feet to the left of the table, torches along that wall flaring to life and brightly illuminating the area with their flickering fires.

Instantly the remnants of dinner were forgotten as the students and younger guests scrambled from their chairs and hurried to find a spot in the circle that encased the large mats, the teachers and older guests following at a much more leisurely pace. Grinning, Buffy led her fellow slayers through the mass, the people parting before them as they stepped onto the hard mat and worked their way into the center. Forming a triangle, Buffy slowly stretched out her arms above her head as she critically eyed the two girls that had joined her, nodding in approval at what she saw. In true slayer fashion, both Faith and Celeste wore casual clothes that would give them room to spar, Faith's usual dark denim topped with a deep burgundy long-sleeve cotton shirt, while the youngest slayer sported a pair of loose cotton pants and a sweater that she quickly slipped free of and tossed to the side, revealing a small tee beneath. Following the younger girl's lead, Buffy stripped off her own heavy sweater and threw it carelessly to the side as her bared skin prickled in the cold of the Great Hall.

"Well, they wanted a show," Buffy finally stated as she stilled before them, noting that while Faith topped her by a few inches, Celeste dwarfed them both by many more - the tall and slender girl falling back into a familiar defensive crouch.

"Let's give it to them," Faith returned, her lips curved into a feral smile as she bypassed any sort of fighting stance and spun in a high kick that caught Celeste unaware and threw her to the side even as Buffy caught the foot aimed in her direction and twisted Faith mid-air and sent her crashing to the mats.

"Let's do it," Buffy agreed, flashing a bright grin at the dark-haired slayer before turning to engage the youngest slayer, the girl flying at her in a flurry of well-placed kicks and punches. Suitably impressed by her strength and skill, Buffy concentrated on her opponent, blocking the blows that she could and taking the ones that she couldn't with an unwavering expression before flipping to the side as Faith reclaimed her feet and joined the fight. Soon, the three began trading blows, each working for herself and attacking whoever left an opening, and all moving with the same ease and precision.

To those watching, it seemed as though the slayers moved almost languidly, the sharp, taunting remarks rolling off of Buffy and Faith's lips while the younger girl rolled her eyes at the display. Then, as they became more comfortable with each other, their capabilities, and the audience that watched their moves, the pace of the sparring slowly increased as the slayers attacked, kicked, defended, dove, rolled, and vaulted around the space of the mats - all unafraid to give a little, yet determined to take back just as much as they gave. Yet the thing that became the most noticeable were the difference in the girls' fighting styles, for while Celeste fought with a determined precision and Faith with a wild abandon, Buffy fought with a grace that made her efforts seem beautiful in the deadliest way imaginable.

Taking a powerful kick against her braced arms, Buffy stumbled a few paces away from the fight as both Faith and Celeste adapted to her absence and focused more intently on each other. Recovering her balance once more, Buffy took a moment to wipe the sweat from her forehead before throwing an impish grin at her otherwise occupied opponents. Then, with a determined set of her lips she quickly launched herself forward, reintroducing herself to the fight as she leapt in a powerful spin, the heel of each foot catching a slayer and throwing them back to the far end of the mat in a splay of limbs. Grinning, Buffy landed lightly on her feet and watched as her fellow slayers attempted to reclaim their feet, her attention focused solely on her comrades - which was when her feet were swept out from beneath her from behind. Grunting as her back slammed against the hard mats, Buffy lay still for a moment, her chin tilting back to take in her opponent - and frowning as she took in Angel's upside down smirk.

"Ooh, you asked for it," she muttered, Faith and Celeste forgotten as she easily flipped to her feet and spun quickly, her kick knocked to the side and traded for a fist that she caught and spun away.

Confused, Celeste watched this new battle through wide eyes as Faith quietly pulled her off the mat, the two girls joining the amazed onlookers as everyone's eyes became trained on the new match. Together, the vampire and slayer, opposing forces of nature, moved as though they had always been fighting together, their attacks, feints, and hits a beautiful arc that spanned the area of the large mat. As Buffy would spin forward in a graceful kick, Angel would duck the move and then retaliate with a punch that Buffy would sidestep and return with a sweep of her legs that Angel would dance over. "What..." the slayer murmured, her wide eyes locked on Buffy's small frame.

"Buffy and Angel have history," Faith explained quietly, a small smile lifting her lips as she watched her sister slayer move. It had been a while since she had last sparred with Buffy, and even longer since she had seen Buffy and Angel in action, but even she could see that not only did Buffy obviously have her slayer strength back, but it seemed that she was getting stronger and faster - better. Idly, Faith couldn't help but wonder if the same could be said for her. Was the increase in strength and speed something that came with time as a part of the whole slayer package, or was it something more?

"But I thought that she was with the wizard," Celeste returned, her eyes searching out Harry from the crowd of onlookers and surprised to see neither anger nor jealousy in his green eyes, but instead a fierce pride and even love as he watched the fighting duo.

"Oh, this isn't about love, or even sex," Faith quickly countered with a sly smile as she finally turned away, nodding slowly as she took in the girl's star-struck expression. "What you're seeing right now? That, Kid, is what the dance is truly all about."

**To be continued...**


	10. Chapter 10

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 10"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: As some of you may notice, there is an extremely small excerpt from Rowling's 5th book at the end of this chapter. Don't worry for those who haven't read the book yet - no spoilers. Just going straight to the source of the matter for a description about a magical item. So, yay, go Rowling, etc. Also, a huge thanks to everyone who decided to play the name game with me a few weeks back. As you will see, I finally decided on one, at least. ;p

* * *

"So this is the renowned library of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?" Bertrone asked, his gray eyes piercing the dimly lit room, the candlelight reflecting off of the heavy snow that fell beyond the narrow windows and fracturing on the many dusty tomes and scrolls that littered the many bookshelves that disappeared on either side and into the dark shadows of the cavernous room.

"It is," Samuel Fellows agreed as he smiled amiably at the French watcher, the thin man moving towards one of the shelves and running a narrow finger over the spine of an ancient text. "And I cannot even begin to count the number of hours that I have spent in this room during my time here at Hogwarts, and many years thereafter."

"Dumbledore has been kind enough to allow the Council to reproduce many of the library's books and scrolls to add to our own vast library," Giles added as he settled on the corner of one table, a fond smile lifting his lips as his eyes traced over the room that hadn't changed in the thirty years since he had been absent from the school's halls. "As has Madame Maxime at your own Alma Mater," he added with a small nod at the French watcher.

"Ah yes, Beauxbatons," Bertrone murmured, a small smile lifting his lips as Wesley moved past him, the ex-watcher's eyes scouring over the titles of the many texts. "It has been many a long year since I last visited the chateau - and even longer since I was a student there."

"Well," Wesley began, almost absently as he lifted one large text from a high shelf, "if your Beauxbatons can brag of even half the library of this castle, then I must admit that Oxford seems to have left me at a disadvantage when faced with the knowledge that you wizards had at your fingertips."

"Ah, but you shouldn't so easily dismiss your muggle studies at Oxford," Samuel reproved gently as he smiled at the younger man. "After all, the Watcher's Council doesn't place her trust in someone, nor gives a man the care of not one, but two of our slayers, quite so freely."

"Yes, well seeing as how Travers was in charge, I cannot exactly take your compliment for what it is," Wesley returned with a self-depreciating smile. "Also, as I'm sure that Giles will attest, I was a bit of a prat during my time in Sunnydale."

"I was going to suggest ninny," Giles offered with a small smirk as Wesley scowled at him, "but prat will serve."

Frowning at Giles, Samuel curtly shook his head. "Regardless, from what I've heard about then and now, it wasn't a matter of our trust being placed in the wrong man. Rather it seems that the odds were placed against you before you had even arrived in the States, and your actions since that time have obviously worked against any imagined misdeed you may have committed."

Smiling thinly, Wesley nodded curtly at the head of the Council even as he shrugged away the man's words. "Or perhaps I was just never meant to be a watcher," he countered as he turned back to his perusal of the many books that filled the library. "Faith and I never quite saw eye to eye, and that says nothing on how often Buffy and I butted heads during my brief stint as her watcher. Actually, how you two manage to care for these girls without strangling them first is really beyond me. Give me a broody vampire over hormonal teenage girls any day!" he added with a sharp laugh, even as Bertrone snorted somewhere from his darkened corner.

Frowning softly, Giles shared a troubled look with his old friend, his eyes darting to the darkened shadows that concealed the French watcher. Even if Faith would never betray Celeste by coming to either Giles or Samuel with the increasing tension between the youngest slayer and her watcher, with Xander, Willow and Tara all sharing the same living space with them, it was only a matter of time before the young people had come to him with their concerns. Concerns that, he in turn, had shared with his old friend and coincidentally, the French watcher's boss. Not that he blamed the man for the trouble - or Celeste, for that matter. Instead, as he had pointed out to Samuel, Giles knew that it was a problem that every watcher and their slayer went through - he and Buffy included. Of course, it was those words that he was eating now as Samuel inclined his head towards him before pointedly moving towards Wesley, creating some excuse mid-stride and then tactfully excusing them both from the room.

Sighing, Giles slowly made his way deeper into the library and found the French watcher stationed before one of the narrow windows, his breath fogging the frozen glass and his eyes locked on the snowy darkness outside.

"You know," Bertrone began as he fingered his suit coat absently, his eyes not really seeing anything but his own memories, "that this is the first Christmas Eve that Celeste and I have truly been apart since she first came to me as a child."

"But you're not apart," Giles countered quietly as he settled on a wooden chair behind the watcher, his eyes critically traveling over the man's stiff frame.

Chuckling dryly, Bertrone slowly shook his graying head. "Oh, but we are, Monsieur Giles. In every way that matters, we could be oceans apart this night."

Sighing once more, Giles slowly shifted in his chair, the soft creaking of the wood echoing in the otherwise silent room. For a moment, he sifted through his thoughts and memories of his many years with Buffy, some good, others quite bad - yet with a start he realized that he wouldn't trade any of them. "You know," he murmured, his smile turning wistful, "I was told that I was going to be a watcher from the time that I was the smallest lad. My grandmother had been a watcher, and my father after her, and I knew that soon it would come to me." Sighing softly, Giles slowly shook his head as he thought of those long ago years. "For a time, I tried to run away from my destiny, but that just got me into even more trouble and soon, not only did I accept it, I embraced it," he admitted, lost in his own thoughts. "I vowed that one day I was going to be the best damn watcher that the Council had ever seen.... however, I was never placed with a potential. And after a time I came to accept that I was never going to be given a slayer to guide," he admitted with a small frown, thinking of his work at the British Museum in London when his work as a watcher left him unfulfilled. "Yet when the next slayer to be called turned out to be an unknown potential with no watcher to guide, train, or prepare her for her destiny, and when her first watcher, Merrick, was killed after only a few months... I knew that I was going to have my work cut out for me. I was right," Giles continued, smiling wryly as he thought back on the fiery girl that had first walked into his library in Sunnydale - the one that had refused him and her destiny from the very beginning.

"Buffy was a headstrong and willful girl that fought her destiny as hard as she could," the watcher continued, his eyes focusing once more and realizing for the first time that somewhere along the way, he had gained Bertrone's undivided attention. "It took her death to finally convince Buffy that this was not something that she could run from. People needed her, and in turn, she needed me just as much as I needed her." Meeting Bertrone's shuttered gaze, Giles slowly nodded his head. "In time, both Buffy and I came to respect one another, and in more time, that respect turned to love," he admitted, knowing that had Travers still been around, such an admission would have caused him to be fired as Buffy's watcher - again. "I've only been Buffy's watcher for four years... I've only known her for four years," Giles amended with a small smile. "But I can tell you now that I love that girl more than life itself. I have become more than a watcher to her, and she is more than my slayer. You, however," he continued, his eyes boring into Bertrone's steely gray - a gray that was slowly melting beneath Giles' steady gaze, "have had your slayer for far longer."

For a moment, the words remained unspoken as both men matched wills, their eyes locked upon one another as Giles dared the man to deny it. In the end, it was impossible for the French watcher to do so. Sighing, he wearily allowed his body to relax against the window he had been staring through, one hand lifting to run through his pristine hair. "I have tried not to love her," he admitted with a small frown. "Tried not to care..." 

"But it's impossible, isn't it?" Giles asked with a knowing smile.

"Quite," Bertrone agreed, a small smile pulling at his lips before it disappeared beneath a breath of despair, his eyes dropping down to the hands that he cradled before him. "And now I fear that I am driving her away."

Nodding slowly, Giles allowed the man a moment to collect his thoughts as he lifted his glasses from their perch and absently began polishing the clean lenses upon the hem of his sweater, oblivious to his trademark gesture and the smirks it would have garnered from the others. "What I've learned from Buffy," he began, his gaze turning thoughtful, "is that what we've been taught about the relationship between a watcher and his slayer can never be. Not truly," Giles amended with a small frown. "To distance ourselves from our slayers prevents us from forming the bond that's necessary in keeping them alive. For as I've learned, to help our slayers, we need to love our slayers," he continued, his eyes lifting to take in the man's cautious gaze. "This is something that Samuel and I have debated on at great lengths over the years, and we've come to the conclusion that the old ways are the wrong ways. While it's true that we need to give them the space needed to fight the darkness, we also need to provide the love to see them through the certainty that some day, the darkness is going to steal their light from us and the world."

"But how can you do that willingly?" Bertrone asked through a dry throat, his stomach clenching painfully as Giles hit the brunt of his anxiety right on the head - openly addressing the unspoken fear that had plagued the French watcher since the very moment that his slayer had been called. "How can you do that knowing that someday someone is going to steal your slayer from you?"

"I can't," Giles admitted, his voice quiet and the pain evident in his voice. "It would be impossible to live each day under the tremendous weight that someday she will leave me," he continued as he lifted his determined green eyes to his fellow watcher. "Instead, I live each day with the thought that today... today I have this one more day with Buffy. Today I have this one more day to help my slayer, to guide her, to teach her, train her... and most importantly. I have this one more day to love her and receive her love in return."

"But someday-"

"Someday Buffy will lose her fight against the darkness and someday I will be alone," Giles interrupted, forcing the words through his clenched lips as his eyes turned down to the hands that were fisted in his lap. "And when that day comes, I hope that I will be able to remember all that Buffy has lived for, all that she has fought for, all that she had struggled for, and all that she has suffered for. And on that day, I hope that I will have the strength to do what she would have wanted me to do: and that's to keep on living, fighting, struggling, and suffering. For when that day comes, I know that she will be with me, slipping into my role and watching me and waiting for me to make her as proud as she has always made me," Giles whispered, vainly trying to keep his tears at bay as he slowly smoothed his hands before him. And then, with a final sigh he lifted his watery green eyes and smiled sadly at the older man that stood before him. "It is a watcher's final gift to his slayer."

Nodding slowly around the lump in his own throat, Bertrone slowly turned away from Giles and faced the dark night once more. "And when that day comes..." he murmured, his voice dying away as he settled his forehead against the cool glass. "When that day comes, I can only pray that I will have the strength to see it done."

* * *

Sighing softly, Miss Parker eyed her tired reflection in the gilded mirror, one hand lifting to pull her long, auburn hair back into a simple twist while she secured the loose bundle with an elastic band. Bending down, she turned the ornate faucets and patiently waited for the water to heat before filling her cupped hands and splashing it against her skin, the warm water easing away the stresses of the day and causing the lines on her face to dissolve and smooth away.

It had been a long day that started very early that morning with a couple of short hours in the office to finish off a few last minute details before she, Jarod, and Sydney had made the quick trip to Hogwarts... a school that was founded on magic. Shaking her head ruefully, Miss Parker began scrubbing the make-up from her face, her lips quirked at the thought. After all, even though it had been almost a year since she had been officially introduced into the darker, more supernatural aspects of their world, she still found herself grasping at the possibilities and the intricacies that such revelations meant for the Centre, and more importantly, herself. Miss Parker had spent the last thirty odd years with one goal in mind, and that was to make her father proud - to live for her father - his Angel. Somewhere along the way that goal became skewed as Jarod entered her life and somehow managed to become so entangled in her lonely existence that her every waking thought, and many sleeping ones, seemed to revolve around the Pretender... her childhood friend. Now, with the rest of her family dead and gone and the Centre in her hands, Miss Parker found herself suddenly thrust into a world that she could never imagine: a Centre that answered to an organization that was founded on the idea that Good and Evil existed... and the kicker was, they worked for the Good side, which meant in turn, so did the Centre. Then... then there came the complex and yet so simple relationship with the Pretender that she had spent four years hunting. Four years making his life miserable, and then in the course of one they went from the hunter and the prey to colleagues... and now so much more. When did things get so complicated? And yet when did they become so simple?

"Honey, if you scrub your face any harder, you're gonna be splotchy."

Gasping, Miss Parker stumbled back from the ornate sink, her hands desperately trying to wipe the water from her eyes as she gaped at the small bathroom - the small, _empty_ bathroom. "Who's there? Show yourself," Parker quickly barked as she automatically reached for the gun that she stopped carrying over eight months ago.

"Now don't get your panties in a tizzy - you're a muggle, aren't you?"

Frowning, Miss Parker slowly advanced towards the sink she had just abandoned, her eyes locked on her wide-eyed reflection - the one that quickly shifted into a glare as she caught her own bewildered expression.

"Now sugar, there's no reason to be giving me that look!"

Startled, Miss Parker's eyes grew wide as she stared at the mirror in abject wonder. "You're the mirror," she murmured, one hand tentatively reaching out to touch the cool edge of the round glass. "And you're talking."

"As things often do in the magical world," the mirror responded in kind before it seemed to cluck its tongue... if it had a tongue. "Now aren't you a pretty little thing? You don't really need all that make-up, you know? Looking as you do right now, all natural and all - wheeie, you're a beauty!"

For perhaps the first time in her life, Miss Parker found herself speechless as her cheeks began to feel uncomfortably warm. Confused, she allowed her eyes to settle back on her own reflection and frowned when she realized that she was blushing. Blushing. She, Miss Angela Catherine Parker, was blushing. Instantly the blush was doused beneath a wave of cold as Miss Parker turned narrowed eyes back to the mirror. To the talking mirror. Frowning, she tilted her head to the side and stared at the beautifully crafted, and obviously antique, piece of clear glass. And then, even though it was probably rude on some level to do so, Miss Parker turned and opened the door behind her and slipped into the bedroom that she was sharing with Jarod. "There's a talking mirror in there," she stated, her voice even as Jarod looked up from the small device that he was tinkering with on the large, canopied bed that rest in the middle of the room.

"I know," Jarod returned, his eyes lifting for the briefest of moments as he grinned at her, before quickly turning back to what he was working on. "She... and I do think it's a she, told me that I shouldn't put so much gel in my hair," he admitted with a small grin as he finally gave up on the little computer and tossed it to the bed beside him. "And did you know that my computer won't work here?" he continued as he lay back on the bed, his eyes following Miss Parker as she began working with the buttons on her blouse. "Hermione said something about all of the magic interfering with muggle technology."

"But I saw Willow and her girlfriend working on their laptop after Buffy and the vampire finished their demonstration... Angel, right?" Parker questioned absently as she slid the silk shirt from her shoulders and dropped it on the nearby dresser. To say that the demonstration had been interesting would have downplayed the incredible rush of adrenaline that she had felt as she had watched the three slender girls battle with a ferocity and speed that seemed impossible. And when she thought that it couldn't have gotten any more amazing, the vampire that apparently had a soul and was one of the good guys, had stepped onto the mats and a fresh volley of fighting began. And oddly enough, this fight seemed even more amazing than the last for the simple reason that when the slayers fought, they fought as three separate individuals with amazing skills. Buffy and Angel, on the other hand, seemed to fight as one unit in a way that was almost beautiful. And while this certainly wasn't the first time that she had seen Buffy in action, she still couldn't help but realize that after witnessing something like this, it was no wonder that her brother had tried to capture it and make it his own. To want to be able to control something like that, aside from the trivial fact that it was morally wrong, was something that she could understand. The only difference was that Miss Parker could see straight away that the force that was Buffy was something that couldn't be owned by anyone, no matter how hard they tried. And while the other two slayers and the vampire himself were amazing fighters, Miss Parker couldn't help but think that in some way, Buffy was just that much... more. And while it was certainly possible that she was just biased in her opinions, it still didn't stop her from voicing the question of whether Buffy's newfound Key-ness had anything to do with it - a question that Harry had overheard as he had merely smiled and repeated, once more, that the key was as much a part of Buffy as the slayer. If that was the case, then the merge was indeed truly seamless. "Anyway," she continued, forcing her thoughts back on track, "if the magic interferes, why were they able to use their computer?"

"Some kind of Wiccan alterations," Jarod sighed, a lazy smile lifting his lips as Parker slowly kicked off each high heeled shoe.

Feeling his eyes upon her, Miss Parker turned to Jarod with a question in her eyes. One that was quickly answered as Jarod abandoned the bed and moved beside her, his eyes glimmering in the torchlight as he allowed his hands to trail down her bare arms before circling behind her and landing on the warm flesh of her back. Sighing, she allowed her eyes to drift shut as Jarod's lips pressed against the soft base of her neck, his warm breath tickling her skin as he pulled her against the broad planes of his chest. He was so different from Tommy... so very different. While Tommy had always been a gentle lover, he almost seemed rough compared to the tenderness that Jarod displayed. He touched her as though she was spun glass, his hands as light as feathers and his lips always warm against her skin. And more importantly, Jarod never had sex, nor did he simply make love to her. Instead, it was as though he made love to every inch of her body, bestowing equal amounts of love to everything that he touched and never leaving her doubting the way that he felt about her. He made her feel loved, treasured even.

Sighing softly, she slowly lifted her arms until they were wrapped around Jarod's neck, her fingers playing with his short, dark hair as he continued to bestow soft kisses upon her bared neck and shoulders. "I love you, Jarod," she whispered, the words coming far easier than she had ever imagined possible.

"And I you," he murmured, his voice so low she had to strain to hear it as he gently gathered her long frame in his arms and carried her back to their large, canopied bed. "Merry Christmas, Parker," he whispered as he gently settled her on plump comforter, his lean body draping over hers as he continued to land teasing kisses on her flushed skin.

"Angela," Parker returned, a small, sly smile lifting her lips as Jarod turned to her in question. It wasn't that he didn't know her name, for he was one of the few that she had bestowed that gift upon when they were but small children. It was more the fact that since her father had gifted her with her nickname of Angel so long ago, and especially after her mother's death, Miss Parker had latched onto that simple name as a way to show how very important her relationship was with her father. He, and he alone would be allowed to call her by her given name while to the rest of the world, she would be known as Miss Parker. Jarod knew this. Jarod knew how much she had loved her father and how deeply she had grieved his death in the weeks after Raines had revealed the murder. More importantly, Jarod knew how, now more than ever, that given name had become even more precious. But now, in an enchanted castle and when surrounded by friends and loved ones - while in the arms of the man that she loved, the man that she would die for - it was now, more than ever that she wanted to hear that name again. That she wanted to hear it from Jarod's lips. "Please call me Angela," she whispered, her eyes glistening as Jarod seemed to peer through them and into her very soul.

"I love you, Angela," he finally whispered, a small smile pulling at his lips as he gently cupped her chin in one of his large, calloused hands. Then, with a small sigh he deftly bent his head down and pressed his lips against hers, the rest of the world forgotten as somewhere, deep within the castle's walls a clock struck midnight and the night began its slow movement into day.

* * *

"So what did you do?" Ginny breathed, her soft breath fanning out her long red hair as she arched imperceptibly closer to the dark-haired girl, her wide brown eyes fixed before her.

"I told him to get his hand the hell off my ass before I knocked him into Vegas," Faith returned as she smacked her fist into her palm, her lips curled in a smirk as the young Gryffindor squealed at her words, Hermione instantly wincing and trying to throw a pillow to get the girl to quiet down a little.

Rolling her eyes dramatically, Cordelia twisted on the bedspread of the large, canopied bed that rest next to the slayer's and arched a dark brow at Willow and Tara who were cuddled on the bed next to hers. "She hasn't changed a bit, has she?" she asked around a wide yawn as she adjusted her thin chemise.

"Not an iota," Willow agreed with a sleepy shrug as she burrowed down in the covers beside Tara, the other girl already fast asleep.

"Oh, I don't know," Buffy added from her place beside Celeste on a nearby bed. "She's not trying to stab me or anything - I'd call that a marked improvement."

"Hey, let's try to remember who gutted who here," Faith quickly cut in as she tossed a pillow at the blonde slayer, Buffy easily dodging the feather-stuffed fabric and sending another pillow flying back at her.

"You.. you stabbed Faith?" Celeste asked, her eyes growing wide as she turned back and forth between the two other slayers.

"Only because Faith was evil at the time," Buffy quickly assured, laughing as another pillow smacked into the back of her head. "Besides, it's kind of like a slayer initiation or something. You need to get as close to biting it as possible during your first year or else you're off the team," she stated, her eyes dancing. "Now Faith, here, settled for a knife in the gut to pass the initiation - and didn't even get close enough to death to trigger the calling of a new slayer, I might add - while I, on the other hand, went all out."

"Oh, get off it!" Cordelia quickly interrupted as she threw a spare pillow at Buffy. "You just wanted an excuse to make out with Xander."

"Um, hello. It's called mouth to mouth," Buffy quickly cut in, her face twisted in a grimace. "And can we say ewww? I love Xander and all, but you're the one who was big into the Xander smoochies. Oh, and Willow, too, of course," she amended as Willow promptly glared at her friend.

"Hey, leave me out of this one! And you'll notice, so a passing thing. I mean, liking of the girls now," she added as she indicated the girl that was sleeping soundly beside her.

"So we noticed," Faith returned dryly as she propped herself up on one of the pillows that she had rescued from the stone floor, her brown eyes snapping back to the other girls as the conversation went in circles around her. After much debate and despite the desperate pleas of those involved, Professor McGonagall had made an executive decision earlier that night to maintain some 'modicum of propriety' while students resided within the castle walls, and had all but insisted that the girls and boys be separated and placed in separate bed chambers for the night. Thus, after much cajoling which later ended in threats, the girls finally relented and retreated to the enlargened room a few hours ago, promising to get some sleep - and lying through their teeth.

Yawning, Buffy shifted on the large bed until she could look at the younger girl that shared her bed without craning her neck too much, her arms pillowed below her head as her steady gaze rest upon the third slayer. "So the Council knew you were a potential slayer since you were a little girl, right?" the blond asked, curiously cocking her head to the side.

"Since I was five, yes," Celeste murmured, her fingers absently playing with the velvet curtains that hung beside their large bed.

"That's neat," Buffy stated, smiling softly at the girl. "Beside Kendra, I've never met a Council-raised slayer before," she admitted with a small, sad smile as she thought of the strong, dark-skinned girl that had touched her life so briefly. "They only found out that I was a potential after I was already called, and Faith was only discovered a few years before she was called."

"And by then, it was already too late," Faith added with a wicked grin. "I was already the girl you see today and no amount of training bullshit was going to change that," she stated proudly.

"And to think of how things could have been if they only would have found you a little sooner," Cordelia sighed dramatically.

Ignoring them both, Buffy smiled once more at the younger girl. "So what was it like? Being raised by your watcher, I mean," she clarified as the girl's innocent smile seemed to darken slightly.

"Oh, it was wonderful when I was younger... mais now?"

"Translation: things are a bit rocky on the watcher front?" Hermione ventured as she shifted beside Cordelia, remembering the hushed conversation she had overheard between Xander and Willow earlier that day.

"Exactly," Celeste sighed as she wearily lay back on the bed, her eyes tracing the patterns on the canopy above. "And I do not understand it at all! It is like I can do nothing right by him now and all we do is fight," she muttered, her features twisted in a hard frown.

Nodding sympathetically, Buffy slowly sat up and hugged a pillow to her chest. "Giles and I went through something similar," she admitted, shaking her head ruefully as she thought of the man that she had come to see as a father - especially when her own father went AWOL. Frowning, she realized that her mother had died a year and a half ago and her father _still_ hadn't even bothered trying to contact her... not like she was making a huge effort on her end, either. There was something about being abandoned that put a damper on the whole father/daughter relationship. And in the end, Buffy couldn't help but realize that locating Hank Summers would only complicate a life that was complicated enough as it was... besides, why did she need Hank Summers when she had a Giles? "I think at first I even blamed Giles for me being the slayer. I didn't want it."

Laughing, Celeste quickly shook her head. "That was never the case with Monsieur Bertrone and I," she stated, eyes glimmering as her lips lifted in a wry smile. "Ever since I was little I had always wanted to be the slayer. To be the one girl in my generation to-"

"Yeah, yeah," Faith cut in, waving her hand at the girl. "Kid, we know the spiel. Besides, now you get to share the burden."

"Which is a good thing," Buffy quickly stated with a firm nod. "And seeing as how I'm going the only one here that's ever done this gig solo, you might as well take my word for it. While Scooby support is always key to survival, Slayer back up is always of the good," she finished with a small smile at her friends - a smile that quickly faltered as she saw the sad, almost wistful smile that pulled at the youngest slayer's lips. Sighing, Buffy gently nudged the girl with one foot, drawing her attention once more. "Listen, I don't know your watcher," Buffy began, "but I do know what's in his eyes whenever he's looked at you today - and that's love." 

Sighing softly, Buffy drew her knees to her chest as she thought of her own watcher and the love that he no longer feared showing. "Sometimes... sometimes I think that our watchers have the harder job. Ours is so straight forward," Buffy murmured, her eyes drifting down to look at her small hands before she turned to meet Faith's understanding eyes. "We live, love, fight, and die more fiercely than anyone else because we know that our time here is short," Buffy stated, her whispered voice sounding as loud as thunder in the quiet room as Celeste's eyes met her own, "and we have to put an entire lifetime of experiences and emotions into the short time we're given - and whatever we give this world will have to last our loved ones far longer than we ever did. It's a slayer's legacy - something that the Council will never teach you but something that each slayer just _knows_. It's also something that takes our watchers a little bit longer to figure out," Buffy continued, a wry smile lifting her lips. "Until that day you just need to give him the space to-" Buffy broke off, her eyes sliding over to the heavy wooden door to the room, seconds before someone rapped upon the hard wood. 

Confused, she watched as Ginny Weasley quickly scampered across the cold stone floor and pulled open the heavy door, revealing a slightly disheveled version of Celeste's watcher. "-knock on the door," Buffy finished, a small smile lifting her lips as the man's shadowed gray eyes slid over each girl until they finally rest upon his young slayer.

"Celeste," Bertrone began, one hand absently reaching up to attempt to straighten the hair that he had mussed earlier as his eyes locked with her own. "A word, if you will?" he asked, stepping away from the door and gesturing to the hall behind him.

Confused, Celeste took in her watcher's haunted expression, her eyes critically roaming over his usually pristine frame and frowning as she realized how out of sorts her watcher seemed. Turning, she looked to the petite blond slayer who merely inclined her head in her watcher's direction before pointedly turning away and engaging the other girls in another conversation.

"Celeste?"

"Of course," the girl quickly returned as she slid from the high bed, shivering as her bare feet fell upon the cold stone floor, and then hurried across the room and followed her watcher into the torch-lit hall beyond. "Is there something wrong?" she murmured, unconsciously slipping into their native language as her watcher drew her before him, his gray eyes gently sliding over her slender frame even as his weathered hand cupped her pale chin. For a moment, Celeste felt as though she were five once more as strangers took her from the parents that she barely remembered and gave her to this tall, elegant and imposing man. To a scared, heartbroken five year old, the grim frown he wore seemed terribly frightening... yet the second that the Council members disappeared, leaving her alone with the stranger, the hard frown had disappeared beneath the gentle smile that he wore now.

"Ah, ma petite... where have the years gone?" Bertrone murmured, his eyes shimmering in the dim lighting as he marveled over the young woman that the tiny, frightened child that had been placed in his care many a year ago, had become. Celeste was only fifteen, but already she was breathtaking. Tall and slender, a naturally pale complexion and long, shimmering hair that was the color of the deepest night with wide blue eyes that contained so much innocence and now... now so much strength. And fifteen was such an odd age, creating a strange mixture of girl and woman in the child before him - a mixture that had been compounded by the strength, speed, and wisdom of the slayer. His slayer.

"I.. I do not understand," Celeste admitted with a small frown. "Is everything alright, Monsieur Bert-"

"Non, Celeste," her watcher quickly interrupted, a single finger lifting to still her muffled words. "I have taken some good advice this night and thought long on what I was told. And he was right. Monsieur Bertrone is a title for strangers. You, ma petite, are no stranger," he murmured as he gently brushed a strand of dark hair from her eyes. "You must call me B'one," he stated, his voice firm.

"Bee-own?" the slayer returned, trying out the unfamiliar word.

"Yes - a nickname from my youth. A name that only my family ever called me by," he murmured quietly, his eyes intently meeting her own and waiting for the girl to process his words and to find what had gone unspoken. And, as he knew it would, it took only seconds for his meaning to become clear as Celeste's eyes widened, their clear, cerulean blue shimmering with unshed tears. Smiling gently, Bertrone nodded his head once before gently pulling her close and allowing himself to hold her as a father would hold his daughter and as a watcher was always forbidden to hold his slayer. Yet in the face of the girl that stood before him, and who was now cradled in his embrace, such rules seemed ancient and unimportant. All that mattered was the child that he cradled in his arms for the first time - and, as he quickly vowed, not for the last. "Je t'aime, ma petite. Je t'aime," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper against her ears.

Sighing softly around her tears, Celeste clung to her watcher and allowed the long awaited words to wash over her soul like a soothing balm. Secretly she had always hoped to hear those words from her watcher but deep down, feared that she never would. But somehow, in this enchanted castle in a world that she had only ever glimpsed, it seemed that even dreams could come true. "Je sais," she murmured, a small, watery smile lifting her lips as she pushed her lips near his ear. "Et je t'aime aussi, B'one."

* * *

The picture of stealth, Buffy moved through the empty halls of Hogwarts as a huntress searching for their prey, her army following on silent feet behind her. Stilling before a heavy wooden door, Buffy lifted her hand and instantly her troops froze while her two generals silently moved to her side. Looking to each, Buffy nodded once before extending her senses out around her, her eyes falling shut in concentration as her generals followed her lead. Seconds later, she opened her brilliant green eyes and turned first to her left, where Faith minutely shook her head, and then to her right, where Celeste mimicked the older slayer's movements. Smiling, Buffy nodded her agreement of their silent assessment and cautiously pushed open the heavy door before practically gliding into the large room beyond, the early morning sun shining through snow-washed windows and bathing the room in golden light.

Grinning, Buffy allowed her eyes to sweep over the eight large canopied beds that were spread out in a circle around her as she did a mental tally - and then frowned at the results. Turning, she beckoned for one of her troops to step closer, the tall Californian easily picking her way through the others until she stilled at the slayer's side. "Where's Angel?" Buffy murmured, her question a mere whisper of breath that fanned across the other girl's cheek.

"Forgot to pack a midnight snack," Cordelia returned, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Said he was going to check out the selection in the Forbidden Forest."

"Ewww," Buffy whispered before quickly shrugging her shoulders, storing the information before beckoning for her troops to take their places, infinitely glad that she had been able to 'borrow' Harry's Marauder's map the night before in order to help she and the others perfect their arrangements. Turning, she watched as each girl moved until they were standing quietly at the foot of one canopied bed, her eyes following their movements and ensuring that each one was in the correct position. After all, they had practically spent hours the night before arguing who got which one and she didn't want all of that diplomacy having been for nothing. Nodding slowly, she then turned and jerked her thumb at Hermione and Ginny who quickly withdrew their wands from their long skirts. Turning, the girls then locked eyes with one another and together they muttered a short incantation while waving and flicking their wands just right. Seconds later the floor was suddenly covered in a thick blanket of bitterly cold snow, magically pulled in from the winter world outside and making Buffy instantly thankful that Willow had had the foresight to suggest everyone wearing their shoes before making the trek.

Grinning, Buffy felt the temperature in the room begin to drop as she motioned for each girl to go to the next step as they all quickly bent low and fashioned a small pile of wet, dripping snow balls. Then, as one unit they each hefted one large ball into one hand while the next reached for the thick, velvet curtain that hid the bed's occupant from the room. Grinning wickedly, Buffy nodded to each of the girls and then took a quick breath before facing her own shadowed bed. 

"NOW!!" she shouted, her voice echoing like a gunshot around the circular room as each girl threw back the curtains and heaved the dripping snowball at the huddled form that had been hidden behind each curtain; Hermione pelting Ron, Willow nailing Xander, Cordelia smacking Wesley, Ginny slamming Percy, Faith pounding Gunn, Celeste soaking Charlie, and Tara beating Bill. And Buffy... grinning maniacally, Buffy watched in grim satisfaction as her own wet, snowy-cold snowball soared over the rich, heavy bed coverings and splintered upon contact with the back of Harry's sleepy head.

Yelping, the dark-haired wizard practically bolted from beneath his heavy coverings as the cold snow dripped down his back, dimly aware of similar exclamations, yelps, and curses being emitted from his many roommates around him. Shaking his head, Harry surged towards the table beside his bed and slid on his glasses - just in time to be pelted by another wet, dripping snowball - this one catching him at the base of his neck with the majority of the icy water sliding beneath the thin tee-shirt he wore. Cursing loudly, Harry looked up in time to catch Buffy's mischievous grin before she launched yet another snowball at him - this one nearly taking his head off as he yelped and ducked to the side.

"Men, we're under attack!" Xander hollered from across the room as he tried to duck the many snowballs Willow kept lobbing at her best friend. "Attack!" he roared as he dove forward and unceremoniously tackled Willow backwards and into a large bank of snow behind her, her laughing shriek adding to the mayhem as the guys finally overcame their initial shock and attempted to fight back. Instantly the room became a thunderously loud and confused mass of wrestling bodies, hurtled snow, shrieking laughs, and frozen gasps as everyone tousled and tried to soak their opponent the most.

Laughing so hard that she was having troubles breathing, Buffy easily rolled with Harry's tackle and then pinned him effortlessly beneath her, her shoulders shaking as Harry's eyes widened in horror at the snow that was pressed against his back and soaking through his thin clothing. "Merry Christmas, Harry - and I told you this wasn't over," she stated sweetly even as Harry's eyes narrowed upon hers. Recognizing that look of concentration, Buffy had only a moment to realize the implications before a wave of snow lifted her off her feet and sent her crashing into Faith and Gunn's wrestling forms. Staggering to her feet and more than a little wet, Buffy was about to dive bomb Harry once more when someone cleared their throat noisily from the open doorway behind her. Freezing, Buffy slowly turned as the room fell silent, her face flushing despite the room's cold as her eyes lit upon Professor McGonagall's disapproving form.

For a moment, the professor merely glared at the room and its occupants, her small, beady eyes traversing the bed hangings that were torn from their hooks, the snow that covered more than it didn't, and the sixteen young people that were spread around the room with their faces flushed, their wet clothing sticking to their bodies, and many of them gathered in quite a few indecent positions with their assailants... and then her disapproving frown twitched slightly, and then twitched again as the older woman seemed to struggle with something. Finally, she seemed to gain some measure of control as she called out in a choked voice that sounded much higher pitched then normal. "Everyone will be gathering for the Christmas feast in an hour. You won't want to be late." Then, turning on her heel she began marching from the room, her shoulders shaking slightly before she stopped and turned back once more, unable to hide a small snicker as it twisted her lips. "And please see that you clear up this mess before the house elves see what you've done, will you?" she asked smartly before leaving the room in a thick, befuddled silence.

* * *

Sighing softly, Buffy tried to stifle her disappointment as she gazed fondly at the two people that stood before her. Willow, Xander and Buffy - that made three. Three original Scoobies gathered together again... and for far too short of a time. Sighing again, Buffy met Xander's warm brown eyes and Willow's shimmering green before all three came together in a big group hug. The final Christmas brunch had come and gone hours ago and as the daylight began to fade into coming night, the inevitable time to once more part had come upon them. The LA crew and the group from the Centre had been the first to leave, quickly followed by the Weasley family. In the end, only the group from Sunnydale, Ron, Hermione and Sirius remained behind - and even they had to be going soon. Buffy and Harry included, as Giles continued to point out from his position near the head of the Watcher's Council.

"Idon'twantyoutogo," Willow whispered, her words a muffled cadence against Buffy's blond head as her best friend slowly drew away.

"I second that," Xander added as he sent a fierce glare to where Giles and Samuel were waiting to accompany she and Harry back to the Council's headquarters. With their mission in Russia completed, it was once more time to debrief and be reassigned. Giles had hinted something about man-eating mummies, and she was _really_ hoping that meant Egypt. After all, Egypt was warm. As in Sunnydale-in-the-middle-of-summer-warm, which was a blessing after the bitter cold of Russia - not to mention the frigid temperature in her watcher's mother country.

"I wish we could stay longer," Buffy agreed, wanting to add the unspoken desire to go back with her friends as well. Oddly enough, she almost kind of missed the Hellmouth. The past two days had been filled with stories of the UC that Willow attended, the construction site that Xander was the foreman at, and the large house that the Scoobies now occupied. To Buffy, it all sounded wonderful and secretly, she desperately wanted to see it all... wanted to be a part of it all. Instead, she was forced to stay on the outside of this little Scooby gathering, heeding the fervent advice of a monk that had been dead for the past two months, while the other Scoobies got to be in on all of the action... not that the book-party really sounded like any kind of action that Buffy really wanted to be a part of. Then again, there was just something wrong with the fact that her friends were working themselves to death on a problem that centered around Buffy while the slayer herself got to skip out on the hard stuff and play protector for the world. It seemed unfair somehow, and while her friends had every right to be bitter by the way things were working out... they weren't. Instead, they were the same old Willow and Xander, a warm smile lifting her lips even as Xander cracked his goofy grin. And in their eyes... in their eyes all that showed was the love that they had for their missing Scooby.

"Well, as soon as we find Knights of Bombay-"

"Knights of Byzantium," Willow automatically corrected with a small, exasperated sigh.

"Then we'll get all the good stuff, get rid of the Big Bads, and bring you home," Xander finished with a deceptively bright smile.

"Can I bring a Harry?" Buffy quickly asked, a small smile pulling at her lips as she looked to where the wizard was embroiled in his own goodbyes to Ron and Hermione.

"Only if he's housebroken," Xander returned evenly as he placed a small kiss on the top of her head.

"And if not, I'm sure that Faith can help train him," Willow added as she nodded to where Faith, Celeste, and Bertrone were patiently waiting. "I hear she's good with a whip and-"

"Will, please," Xander quickly cut in as he fervently shook his head. "Enough with the scary visuals!"

"You're telling me - he's _ my_ boyfriend," Buffy added as she glared darkly at the oblivious slayer. "If anyone's going to be using whips on Harry, it's _so_ going to be me."

"And I really didn't need to overhear that," Sirius sighed, shaking his head slightly as he bypassed the trio and made his way over to his godson and his friends. "Harry, can I have a moment?" he asked, nodding politely to Ron and Hermione as they both attempted to finish their goodbyes and scurry away. "Actually, if you wouldn't mind staying," he said, interrupting the young couple and holding them back with his words. "This is for you as well as Harry."

"What is?" Harry asked, his confused green eyes locked on his godfather's as the man quickly began fumbling in his dark robes for something.

But before Sirius could find what he was looking for, Bertrone quietly joined their small circle as he touched the other wizard's shoulder. "Remus is looking for you," he stated, his gray eyes meeting Sirius' troubled blue as he nodded back in the direction from which he had come. "He mentioned that the gods are starting to get destructively restless where you last left them. It's time to make an appearance before they do too much damage."

Sighing, Sirius nodded in wearied agreement even as he forced a smile for the teens. "Yes, I rather imagine that the States don't really need _another_ Grand Canyon, do they?" And then, before any could comment he finally located what he had been looking for as he withdrew a small, poorly-wrapped parcel from the hidden depths of his worn cloak. "But I wanted you to have this before I left," he explained as he passed the package into Harry's hands.

Startled, Harry looked from the package to his godfather's smiling eyes before curtly shaking his head. "But we decided that no one would exchange gifts this year, what with everything-"

"Yes, but that rule doesn't apply to a godfather giving his godson a gift," Sirius interrupted with a bright smile. "Besides, I've been meaning to give this to you for awhile now. Open it!" he urged, his smile growing even brighter as Harry gingerly fingered the heavy bundle.

"Well open it already," Hermione quickly urged as she nudged her friend. "Unless... it's not going to explode or anything... will it?" she asked, frowning as she turned cautious eyes to the man that had been known for his pranks in his days.

"Not this time," Sirius agreed as Harry finally pulled the spellotape away to reveal a small, square and quite dirty mirror within.

Confused, Harry slowly eyed the gift before turning back to his godfather. "Uh... thanks," he muttered, not really sure what kind of reaction his godfather had expected.

Grinning, Sirius quickly reached forward and gently ran his fingers over the cool glass of the old mirror. "This is a two-way mirror," he explained with a fond smile. "I've got the other, and if you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours. That way, no matter were either of us are, we can always talk to one another," he finished as Harry practically beamed up at his godfather. "Your father and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions," he added, grinning impishly as Harry impulsively reached forward and hugged his godfather close to him. (HP: OoTP p.858)

"It's brilliant," Harry breathed as he slowly pulled away, his eyes shining as Sirius gently ruffled his messy black hair.

"Now you take care of yourself and that girlfriend of yours," the aged marauder instructed, a small, wistful smile lifting his lips.

"You just worry about yourself," Harry quickly retorted, his smile dimming as all of his worries for his godfather, forgotten for the past few days, came crashing down upon his young shoulders. "Be careful, Sirius."

"I always am," he returned, smiling gently as he ruffled Harry's hair once more before turning away from his godson. Sighing heavily, he began to follow the French watcher across the Great Hall and towards his old friend - only pausing to turn once more back to the godson that he would do anything to keep safe. "I'll see you soon," he stated, his voice a hard line as his eyes met with Lily's emerald eyes, shining from her son's tanned face and containing so much worry. "I promise."

**To be continued...**

Translations: ma petite = my little one (term of endearment) ; Je t'aime = I love you ; Je sais = I know


	11. Chapter 11

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 11"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: To start, for any LoTR lovers, I want to plug a new author that just posted the first chapter of what promises to be an excellent story. Check out Nightwing6's "To See A World," story id 1467480 - I promise you an excellent read with tons of Legolas/Aragorn goodness - and plenty of elf angst to see you through any afternoon. And as for this little... um, most likely epic, The Tomorrow Speech is of course taken from Shakespeare's MacBeth - although if you _didn't_ know that, there's probably something wrong here. Personally, I was forced to memorize it over seven years ago for my 11th grade Honors English class and as you can see from below, I _still_ have it memorized. Yikes - probably the only time THAT has ever happened in school! ;p And in addition, let me say it now, all loud and clear. Yes, I am aware of how Evil I am. *scoffs* As if you all hadn't realized that by now upon reading "Twist of Fate" and "Racing With Destiny"! So yes, I'm Evil and I know it. *insert terribly dramatic and insane evil laughter* Now, on with the show.

Updated Authors Note: I'd also like to state for the record that this chapter as well as this author's note was written before my enrollment in EA. Sorry Jezowen - just a little too late, I suppose.

* * *

_Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,  
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day  
To the last syllable of record time,  
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle.  
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard no more: it is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing._

Brown, shadowed eyes dancing with amusement, the old monk watched the Shakespearean play for a few moments longer before quickly pulling his shabby brown robes closer against his aged frame, his shoulders bent against the cold, winter wind as he shuffled past. How the time flies when you're immersed in a game of cat and mouse with a pair of Hell Gods, Sirius thought idly as he shuffled through the throngs of people that littered the crowded sidewalks, all braving the bitter January cold in order to see what had been labeled one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Personally, the disguised wizard couldn't help but think that the crashing falls, littered with large chunks of moving ice, were hardly wonderful and more dismal in the weak, gray afternoon light. Not that the other tourists seemed to mind as they oohed and ahhed over the roar of the falls that shoved 150,000 gallons of water over the edge of the cliff each second - or so proclaimed the many signs that littered the sidewalks - creating a cacophony of noise that seemed to drown out all else except for the depressing thoughts that seemed to plague him since the Christmas celebration weeks ago.

"Welcome to Niagara Falls! Would you care to buy a-"

"No thank you," Sirius quickly murmured as he waved away the vendor and pushed through the crowd until he was leaning against one icy railing, his brown eyes drifting over the water that crashed to his right. Thanks to his Christmas gift to Harry, he was in almost continual contact with his beloved godson, which meant that he should have been more content in their little game - 'should have' being the key phrase. After all, the two-way mirror that was a legacy from he and James' days at Hogwarts was very different from talking through fire in that either could do it whenever they so pleased and were not limited to fireplaces nor floo powder. Not that Harry seemed very limited to fireplaces these days. 

No matter, the fact remained that Sirius was seeing far more of his godson as of late, and instead of making him more content, it was more like the nightly talks were simply whetting his appetite for something he was unable to have. Harry could talk for hours about his latest adventures with Buffy and brush off any injuries he might have sustained, but with nothing more than a mirror connecting them, Sirius was unable to do more than listen to his godson - always listen and never touch or protect his godson in any way. 

In a very frustrating manner, the entire situation reminded him far too closely of when he had been on the run during Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts. Then, like now, Sirius had been forced to correspond with his godson through mere letters, always hearing of the dangers, worries, and cares of James and Lily's son from a distance and never able to come forward to protect the boy as he was meant to. As he had failed to do for thirteen years. Sighing, Sirius wearily lifted one age-spotted hand and pressed it against his wrinkled brow, his thoughts miles away from the bustling tourist spot.

"Why Dahm, our monk seems troubled."

Gasping, Sirius tried to stumble away from the melodious voice that seemed to whisper into his ear, his blood freezing as a hand clamped down on his shoulder from his other side, easily holding him in place. Forcing himself to continue breathing, Sirius stared straight ahead, his gaze drifting over the water that crashed to the river so many hundreds of feet below. He didn't need to look to know that today, his inattention after months of this game had finally cost him as the two gods had joined him in his place against the railing, an invisible threat amidst hundreds of oblivious tourists. Sighing softly, Sirius slowly lowered his hand towards his pocket, his fingers inches away from the comforting wood of his wand when the hand on his shoulder tightened so painfully that he was unable to stop his small cry of pain.

"Ah ah ah," Serantine's voice murmured as her slender hand slid past his own and pulled the wand away from his grasping finger tips.

Tears of pain burning his eyes, Sirius finally forced his eyes to slip to the tall goddess that stood beside him, cloaked in a down-filled coat that was the pristine white of Arctic snow, her long red hair cascading down her back and her gray eyes narrowed upon the dark wood that she held in her pale hands. "This is a wand," she murmured, a small frown pulling at her full, voluptuous red lips as she tilted her head to the side, her eyes sliding over Sirius and to the god standing behind him.

Turning his head slowly, Sirius watched as Dahmascus' violet-tinged eyes narrowed on the proffered wand, the wind pulling at his black curls. "The monks are wizards, then," he murmured, his voice a silky caress that caused a series of shudders to rip through Sirius' bent frame. "How interesting," he mused, his brows furrowing for the briefest of moments as his hand squeezed so hard that something shifted beneath Sirius' skin, a crack echoing from the broken bone as agony stole his very breath.

"Not that it matters," Serantine added as she waited impassively for the monk's brown-eyed gaze to clear its haze of pain and then focus on her once more. Smiling, she then lifted the long wand and snapped it with the slightest of pressure, the dry cracking sound nearly lost beneath the roar of the nearby falls.

Gasping, the tears pooling unbidden in his brown eyes, Sirius desperately turned his head, searching for some means of escape - some means of aid even as a moan of pain begged to be released from his parched lips. He had to get away from them. Buffy was counting on him. _Harry_ was counting on him. He had to-

"My dear, dear Monk," Serantine whispered, understanding his panicked movements as she smiled silkily at him. "Do you really want someone to come to your aid? Look at who you have unwittingly surrounded yourself with," she murmured as Dahmascus forcibly spun him around so that his back was pressed against the icy rail, his brown eyes frantically scouring over the crowded walkway. "Mothers, fathers, children... innocents. Mistakenly you have brought us to places that were populated with such people as you followed the false thinking that we suffered from the curse of your morality. You thought that by bringing us here, you would gain an extra protection."

"You were wrong," Dahmascus added as he slid his hand over the broken shoulder, ignoring the man's pained whimper as he eased his hand back around the base of the man's neck, all but hidden beneath the folds of the man's brown robes. "We care not about innocence. We care solely about the Key that you protect. Thus, your mistake has been your undoing for their attention will only bring their deaths. If you so wish that, then please, call for help. Beg for it," he whispered, a small smile lifting his perfect lips as he swept his other arm before him, indicating the oblivious muggles that passed around them. Muggles that, Sirius realized, he had inadvertently endangered with his false assumptions. After all, the Hell Gods were right, and he, Sirius Black, was irrevocably and horribly wrong. And this one wrong move would likely mean his death.

"I didn't think so," Ser murmured with an indifferent shrug. "Your morality won't allow you," she added before turning to Dahm with a small smile. "Now, what say we bring our friend someplace special - someplace private?" she asked as she absently ran her fingers through the monk's balding hair.

Nodding slowly, Dahm draped a casual arm over the monk's broken shoulder and pulled him close, a large grin lighting up his handsome face as the man paled and slouched beneath the weight. "I was here sometime last century," he remarked as Ser hooked her own slender arm, draped in warm cloth, around the monk's thin waist. "And I know the perfect place," he added as the two gods forced the man forward, the crowds parting before the strange trio and then quickly filling in behind them, the roar of the falls crashing in their wake.

* * *

"Well?" Buffy asked as she settled lightly on the soft, plaid-covered mattress, the smog-filtered moonlight drifting through the open windows and shining off of her golden hair.

"I still can't reach him," Harry sighed, his eyes dropping down to the small mirror that was propped on the antique desk before him. "Buffy, it's been three days-"

"Which doesn't mean anything," Buffy quickly interrupted as she slid from her seat and crouched behind him, her arms wrapping around the taller boy and pulling him back against her chest. "Sirius is probably just..."

"Just what?" Harry interrupted as he quickly shook his head and pulled away. "Just toying with a pair of Hell Gods? Of that, Buffy, I am deeply aware," he stated, his voice far cooler than he had intended as he climbed stiffly to his feet and pulled the small mirror into his hands. Sighing, he slowly wrapped the precious object in the thick scarf he carried it in and then slid it into his duffel even as he turned his eyes to the pristine bedroom they occupied. The Hyperion Hotel. Los Angeles, California. Angel.

"Harry, I-"

"Don't," Harry sighed, cutting off Buffy's whispered words as his eyes slid shut, his shoulders slumping as he breathed in the lemony smell of the wood polish. "Just... don't," he whispered, his thoughts going out to the man that was the closest thing to a father that he had ever known. Harry had grown up unwanted and unloved, a hated burden to his mother's sister and her husband. He had been mistreated and a virtual slave to his relatives for eleven years, and not even their deaths at the hand of Voldemort could help ease the pain of those lonely years. While it was true that not even his horrid relatives deserved such a fate, the fact remained that it was because of them that Harry had never known a family's love... until Sirius escaped from Azkaban and revealed himself to Harry during his third year at Hogwarts. In that year Harry not only gained a godfather, but he also gained a guardian. A guardian that loved and cared about him, not because he was the Boy Who Lived, but because he was Harry Potter. James and Lily's son. Sirius Black's only godson.

In one man he had found a link to the parents that he had never known, and through him, he had finally experienced a father's unconditional love. Sirius would do anything for Harry - and unfortunately, that included playing a deadly game with a pair of Hell Gods. For him. And now? "What if something has happened to him?" he whispered, his hands clenched so tightly that the pain almost matched that of his heart. Almost. For nothing could truly match that torment as the pain in his chest seemed to twist and tighten until even breathing seemed difficult.

"Then if that time comes, we'll deal with it together," Buffy vowed as she slipped before him, her hand gently reaching forward to lift Harry's chin until she was staring into his troubled green eyes. "Harry, I'm the Slayer, and you're the Boy Who Lived. Nothing can stand in the way of us," she murmured, a small smile pulling at her lips. "Not even old Moldy Wart himself, the scourge of the wizarding world."

"And you're the Key," Harry whispered, his eyes softening as he gently cupped Buffy's cheek in his own.

"And I will do everything in my power to keep them safe," Buffy returned, her eyes growing hard. "Everything."

"Well ain't this touching," a familiar voice cut in, interrupting the tender moment and sending Buffy scrambling for a weapon - which was actually much harder than it would have been considering that since she and Harry had been staying in the relative safety of AI's headquarters for the past few days, keeping a weapon inside their room with them had just seemed like overkill. Then again, it wasn't as though she had been expecting a visitor to climb through their fourth floor bedroom window.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked, obviously deeply puzzled as his green eyes scanned the familiar shadowed figure that lounged against the open window, a cigarette dangling from hidden lips.

"Spike," Buffy sighed, finally giving up her hunt as she turned to acknowledge the vampire that had been a pain in her ass a few years back. The one that she had called a truce with, albeit temporarily, in order to finally end Angelus' rampage - and the one that was part of her reason for having to come to Los Angeles and all of the sticky situations that went along with that. "Have you decided to save me the effort of having to hunt you down?" she asked as the bleached-blonde vampire slowly abandoned the dark shadows and stepped into the light, his blue eyes casually appraising her before scrutinizing Harry beside her. "Stake," she muttered, holding out her hand, palm up next to Harry.

Curious now, Harry slowly tore his eyes away from the vampire that they had been hunting and focused on his magic, conjuring the stake with the slightest of efforts and placing it in Buffy's outstretched hand. "This is Spike, then?" he asked, his green eyes darting back to the lean vampire.

"So the rumors were true," Spike muttered as he ground out his cigarette on the plush carpeting, ignoring Buffy's scowl as he adjusted his duster and moved further into the room.

"That you're about to go poof? Yeah, pretty accurate," Buffy quickly stated as she lifted her stake and smiled sweetly at the vampire who paused mere feet from she and Harry, his his head cocked to the side as he took in the tall, raven-haired teen beside her.

"That the Slayer was keeping strange company these days - a magician," he elaborated as he made to take a step closer, pausing only when Buffy openly brandished her stake before him.

"I prefer the term 'wizard,' thank you very much," Harry quickly interrupted.

"Not that I care," Spike added as he scowled at the small blonde slayer and her dark-haired companion, taking a cautious step away from the couple. "I'm just liking the fact that it means the great bloody Poof is suffering even more than usual."

Sighing irritably, Buffy waved her hand impatiently before her. "Spike, is there a reason that you're stalking our hotel room? Are you here to try and torment Angel some more?" she added, a small frown pulling at her lips as her eyes hardened. While Angel had given her the brief run-down about Darla, Drusilla, and Spike at Christmas, she'd had no idea about the true havoc that the trio were wreaking upon Los Angeles, nor the cruel mind games that they were using on Angel. It was only when the Council called, saying that she was needed in the City of Angels, that she finally got the whole story. After all, to have your Sire come back from the dead as a human was one thing, but then to go through the torment of having her turned by your Childe, and then to be on the receiving end of their torment - a torment that only ended when Angel finally torched them both... Well, it was only then that everything started to get better for the LA crew, for sometime after that Drusilla had disappeared long enough to pick up Spike from wherever he was hiding, and as Angel had stated at Christmas, Spike wasn't really one for mind games. Nor one who had ever been too excited about getting 'Daddy' back.

"No, Slayer, I'm actually here to see you," Spike stated, his voice growing serious as he settled back on the window ledge, his eyes sliding over the petite slayer once more. "You know," he began, his voice turning thoughtful as his eyes seemed to focus on something that neither she nor Harry could see, "I went back to Sunnyhell a little over a year ago. Dru and me had a falling out and I went back to kill you once and for all. Thing was, you weren't there and Sunnyhell wasn't the place it used to be."

"Yeah, I was... detained, elsewhere," Buffy muttered as she crossed her arms across her chest. "And is that why you're here now? Because let me-"

"No," Spike interrupted, his eyes finally coming back into focus as he seemed to measure the small girl once more. "Me and you - we had an understanding once. You got help taking care of the Poof and I got Dru, free and clear. Even had a bit of drink with your Mum," he added, a small, strange smile pulling at his thin lips.

"Yeah, I remember," Buffy cut in, her words clipped as she unconsciously stepped closer to Harry, trying not to flinch at the mention of her mother. "What of it?"

"I'm thinking we might have cause to do business again," Spike continued as he reached for another fag, his lighter flashing light across his angular features before he took a deep drag. "Way I see it," he continued as he blew the acrid smoke in their direction, "me and mine must be causing quite a fuss if they sent Little Miss High and Mighty in. Thing is, instead of enjoying themselves as we was meant to, the crazy bints are all up in arms about getting the Poof back in the family."

"And you're not," Buffy guessed as she waved away the foul-smelling smoke.

"Why should I?" Spike quickly retorted as he angrily tossed his half-smoked cigarette out the window, his eyes smoldering. "At least now the bloody Poof is a freaking nancy-boy that stays out of our way if we're out of his. Then, it's just me and my girls. But when Daddy's home, Spike is shoved to the side," he muttered, his features twisting in a deep scowl. "So I figure we got something in common: we both want the Poof-ster to stay as he is."

"So why don't you just take Darla and Drusilla and leave town before Angel gets truly sick of your games and dusts you all?" Buffy asked, arching a fine brow at the vampire as she leaned against the antique desk. "They should know by now that their mind games aren't working. Angel isn't going to-"

"I know that," Spike cut in, irritably interrupting the slayer as he glared at the small blond. "And so do they," he added, his eyes narrowing. "Which is why Darla came up with a new plan - one that you're playing right into."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," Spike agreed, rolling his eyes as he quickly surged to his feet and began to cross towards her - stopping only when he realized that his feet seemed frozen to the ground. Eyes narrowing, he slowly scowled at the dark-haired young man that was watching his every movement through wary green eyes before turning back to the petite slayer. "Do you even have a brain in that thick skull of yours?" he muttered as he glared at the girl. "Who's the only person that has ever caused the poof to become Angelus?"

"Me," Buffy sighed as she sagged back against the polished wood, one hand lifting to fall on Harry's arm and quietly signaling him to release his hold on the vampire. A moment later Spike was free once more as he sulked back to the open window. "So you guys have been causing so much trouble in hopes that I would come here and-"

"Give him a moment of perfect happiness?" Harry added before snorting incredulously, all of his earlier frustration at Sirius' disappearance combining with the unavoidable tension that came with _living_ with his girlfriend's ex-boyfriend. An ex-boyfriend that was obviously still in love with her and who would never stop loving her - not to mention the dark looks that were thrown his way whenever Harry allowed his frustration to lash out at those around him. One thing was for certain, and that was that he was certainly _not_ endearing himself to the ensouled vampire during their stay in Los Angeles. Not that Buffy was asking for any of it, for deep down, Harry knew that in her own way, his girlfriend would always love her first love - and that was something that he both understood and respected. 

Quickly throwing Buffy a sheepish glance for his undignified snort and for what he was about to do, Harry quickly continued, turning back to the vampire with a lopsided smile as he casually draped an arm over Buffy's shoulders. "Not bloody likely, I can tell you that," he added, shrugging slightly as something flashed behind Spike's eyes. For a moment, Harry realized, feeling more than a little disturbed, it almost looked like jealousy.

"So it would seem," Spike muttered as he gazed at the couple, his eyes narrowing before a bright grin lifted his lips. "Then it seems that I needn't have bothered as the crazy bints just sabotaged themselves. With the two of you prancing around you'll be making the Poof even more miserable than usual - and that's saying quite a lot."

Frowning, Buffy felt her muscles tense beneath Harry's arm. While what Spike was saying was true, it didn't mean that she _enjoyed _making Angel miserable. "And what's stopping us from staking you now and then going after Darla and Drusilla tomorrow?" she asked, even though the thought of actually dusting the annoying vampire was pretty far from her mind at the moment, what with worries over Sirius and the problems that they were causing Angel just by being there. And to think that they had wanted to help.

"If you dust me, then there's nothing to stop my girls from driving the Poofster mad before you can finish them off," Spike returned simply as he flicked his gaze at the dark-haired wizard. "And I don't need you. Either of you," he continued as he shrugged indifferently at the couple before turning and jumping from the ledge and beyond, his long leather duster flapping in the cool January air and leaving the room in silence.

"Is he always like that?" Harry finally asked as he slowly made his way over to the open window, his eyes catching sight of the vampire's rather rough landing four stories below before the blonde hurried off into the dark night.

"Always," Buffy sighed as she crossed over to Harry and closed the window firmly before them. "Now come on - I think we have some packing to do."

* * *

Gasping raggedly, Sirius could feel his broken ribs shift with every rattling breath that wheezed through his cracked and bleeding lips. He was cold. Colder than he had ever been in his life, and that included eleven years of unjust imprisonment in Azkaban where the very presence of a Dementor was enough to suck every warm thought from his body. But this? This was a whole new kind of cold as his body trembled and shook on the freezing, wet stone floor even as he seemed to burn with an unnatural heat. If his thoughts were a little clearer, perhaps he would have been able to recognize the fever that burned through his battered body, a direct result of the constant exposure to the cave's bitter cold and to the water that soaked his icy, cloaked form from the opening that looked straight into the falls that thundered as a curtain before it.

He had been here for days now, he knew, but time seemed to lose its meaning when his body was imprisoned in this icy hell. For days Dahmascus and Serantine had beaten his body and tortured his soul as they demonstrated their skill that had taken centuries to perfect. But with time, each new pain somehow seemed to blend in with the rest as their words pressed against deaf ears, their blurred images somehow merging together to create phantom images that plagued his every waking thought - and maybe his dreams as well. As he could no longer really differentiate between the waking and dreaming world anymore, Sirius couldn't really be certain. Both were filled with pain and neither promised an escape from this hell. Not anymore.

Yet no matter what hellish tactic the gods used upon Sirius' battered body, he knew that his secrets remained his own. For unlike dementors, the gods were unable to take his real strength from him: they couldn't take Harry away. Even as a ragged cough caused his battered body to slam against the unforgiving stone, Sirius forced his blurry eyes to focus on his godson's long form, lying beside him and his smile never wavering as he reached one hand towards his. Lips pulling back to reveal blood-stained teeth, Sirius returned his godson's grin as one hand reached towards the phantom, desperately trying to seize it and hold it close - and faltering as the image flickered away, leaving him alone with his pain once more.

"He's dying," Dahm remarked casually from his place against the cavern wall, his eyes drifting impassively over the monk's twisted, bleeding form.

"And he'll take his information about the Key with him," Ser agreed, frowning as she stalked forward and knelt over the piteous man. Sighing, she eyed his broken form in disgust as she reached forward and seized the man's thin, brown hair in her hand and yanked the man's head back until she was staring into his pain-glazed blue eyes. Frowning, she slowly knelt closer as she traced one sharp nail beneath each blue orb, a trail of blood marring the man's face. "Dahm, didn't our monk have brown eyes earlier this morning?" she asked, her confusion mounting as the hand that was holding the man's hair began to tingle. Turning, she watched as the thin brown strands seemed to multiply and shift until her fingers were tangled in a head of thick, glossy black hair. "Dahm?" she asked again as she forcibly rolled the delirious man onto his back and then stepped away, her eyes never leaving the form that seemed to lengthen before her very eyes. Eyes narrowing into thin slits, she watched in furious silence as the monk's familiar face seemed to stretch into the much younger and handsome, battered face of a stranger.

"It would seem, dear Serantine," Dahm whispered, his voice choked with rage, "that someone has deceived us." Hands clenching into fists, the god angrily stalked towards the battered man, his normal, fluid movements lost beneath his rage as he seized the man around his monk's robes and bodily lifted him to his feet. As the man's pained moans fell from split lips, Dahmascus felt his anger grow as he backhanded the imposter, the man's face cracking to the side and ricocheting off of the stone wall behind him. "Who are you?" the god demanded, his violet-tinged eyes sparkling as the man's head slowly lolled back forward. "Who are you? Where's my monk? _Where's my key?!_" he roared, as he reached back to strike at the man once more - and freezing as the man's crystal blue eyes seemed to clear for the first time in days.

"You'll... never find it," Sirius wheezed, his eyes locking on Dahmascus as the god's face darkened, a vein throbbing in his forehead as he released his grip on Sirius' robes and dropped him unceremoniously to the ground. Gasping for a breath that his aching lungs could never quite seem to find, the broken wizard watched as the god stormed a little ways down the passageway that had been carved from stone, his roars echoing back upon them as the goddess turned angrily towards him. "You'll never... find them," he whispered again, thinking only of the godson that he so treasured and called on the strength that remained within him, focusing everything he had on the ancient magic that he had learned as a boy... and then slowly shifted into his animagus form.

Unnoticed, the weak, battered black dog slowly staggered to his feet and then limped towards the barrier of water that marked the outside world. The heavy crash of the water on the rocks was deafening to the canine's sensitive ears, and hesitating for the briefest of seconds, he turned his shaggy black head back in the direction he had come, his soulful blue eyes locked on the arguing gods. And then, as though sensing his gaze the two beings turned as one, their eyes locking on his emaciated frame. Woofing softly, the dog edged closer to the water, his legs trembling even as his eyes began to glaze once more. Too many days of pain and torture with no rest nor food had taken their toll, and as the two gods began to advance on the hurting dog he did the only thing that he could do - and that was to allow the cold water to wash over his battered form and pull him into darkness.

* * *

Cursing profusely even as Dahmascus drained the cop of the last of his sanity, Serantine turned her glittering gray eyes away from the blood-splattered ground and cast her gaze over the quiet city. "We were tricked," she murmured, her voice a silky web of anger as her deceptively slender hands clenched into fists so tight that her nails drew four, blood-red crescent moons in the soft flesh of her palms. "For months we followed a martyr while our monk rest in death in this quiet town," she hissed even as the wounds healed themselves, her eyes falling on the blood that remained.

"So it would seem," Dahmascus agreed as he allowed the babbling officer to drop to the dried and yellowed grass beneath him, seemingly oblivious to the mortal wounds that had been delivered upon his weak frame in exchange for the information that they had been seeking.

Becoming increasingly furious at her partner's indifferent tone, Serantine quickly whirled about, her gray eyes flashing. "How can you be so passé?!" she hissed, her beautifully sculpted nostrils flaring angrily. "After five centuries of living in this hell we are this close to going home! This close to teaching that bitch, Glorificus, a lesson she's long earned," she continued, angrily pinching her fingers together. "Our time is running out and _that_," she continued as she waved down at the quivering man, thrashing in the final throes of his pitifully short life, "was our only lead!"

Smiling softly, Dahmascus slowly allowed his gaze to drift over the quiet town that sat in the valley before them, lit by the bright stars above. Sunnydale. Small, quaint, and the home to the Mouth of Hell. Nodding slowly, Dahm allowed his smile to grow as it lifted the corners of his sculpted lips. "Not quite."

**To be continued...**

*grins* I told you to enjoy the respite while you had it - it's the last you guys are going to see from here on out! And yes, my name is Lisette, and I am EVIL. :)


	12. Chapter 12

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 12"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: I did promise an interesting ride, did I not?

* * *

Shoes tapping on the highly polished marble floor, Miss Parker made her way through the vast foyer of the Centre, her black pants and matching suit coat showing every tasteful curve while she absently searched through the purse she carried at her side. "Janet, I have an appointment and will be out for the rest of the afternoon," she stated as she paused before the large, ornate reception desk, her eyes glancing up briefly as she nodded at the thin, older woman that sat behind the desk, ignoring the secretary's solemn, stern frown. After all, such an expression was only to be expected for the bitter woman - which was exactly why she had been hired by Miss Parker herself for the position.

"Yes, Miss Parker," the woman replied automatically as the head of the Centre allowed her eyes to drift back to the purse that she was rifling through.

"And if Samuel Fellows from the Council calls, please inform him that we have no new information, but should that change, we will contact him immediately," she added, frowning briefly as she dug her hand deeper into the small bag before finally snagging her elusive car keys.

"And the dog, ma'am?"

"The what?" Parker returned, a small frown pulling at her lips as she finally turned back to the older woman - and froze at the uncharacteristically tight smirk that lifted the woman's lips as she nodded pointedly at something just over Miss Parker's shoulder. Confused, Parker quickly turned and watched as Broots struggled through the massive doors of the Centre and staggered across the floor, a large mass of blood-clotted fur whimpering and shaking in his bony arms. Eyes narrowing, Miss Parker took a slow, measured step away from the desk and finally paused when she stood directly in the distracted man's path. "Broots," she hissed, a small smirk pulling at her lips as the computer technician froze in his footsteps, his eyes warily lifting to meet hers. "What in the _hell_ is that?" she asked as she pointed one long, manicured finger at the quivering thing that the technician seemed to be struggling with.

"I-i-it's a dog," Broots stammered, his face flushing as the pitiful beast whimpered softly as it tried to shift in the small man's arms.

"Obviously," Miss Parker commented dryly, her eyes narrowing into thin slits. "But what are you doing with it?" she asked, her eyes boring into his.

"I-I found him in the parking lot. I-I-I th-think that someone mu-must have hit him," the balding man quickly stuttered as his eyes fell down to the poor creature that he held.

Sighing through pinched lips, Miss Parker wearily rubbed a hand down her face as she allowed herself to truly look at the dog for the first time. It was large, black, and incredibly filthy - with fur that was matted with as much grime as blood - and no breed of dog that she recognized. Grimacing, she took a step back as she took in the large quantities of blood that now smeared Broots' clothing as the man slowly and gently lowered the canine to the pristine floor, the dog barely acknowledging the movement as the technician hesitantly smoothed back the bloodied hair from the dog's face. Stepping back further, Miss Parker took in the skin that seemed to hug every bone in the dog's body, the beast looking extremely emaciated and like it hadn't eaten in days. Even worse, though, were the places where she could almost see the pearly white of broken bones as the jagged edges broke through the animal's skin.

"He's hurt really bad," Broots murmured, his voice containing so much sorrow that for a moment, Miss Parker forgot the dog as she forcibly turned away from the pitiful beast.

"Then why did you bring him in here?" she asked, lifting one hand to pinch the bridge of her nose as Broots quickly hurried around her until she was forced to look into his pleading eyes once more.

"To see Jarod. He might be able to-"

"Does Jarod look like a veterinarian to you?"

"Well, no," Broots admitted with a small frown. "But I'm sure that he's pretended to be one at some point," he offered helpfully, a small, tentative and extremely hopeful smile lifting his thin lips. "If I could just-" he broke off as a woman's piercing scream rent the air to their side.

Twirling around, Miss Parker reached for her absent gun as the secretary stumbled back and out of her chair, her eyes fixed in horror in their direction. "Janet, what's-" she began, her question forgotten as she finally glimpsed what had her secretary so frightened. "Sirius!" she whispered, her eyes landing on the broken figure of Harry's godfather, lying in the place where the dog had just been deposited. Shoving Broots aside, Miss Parker quickly fell to her knees and slid across the polished marble as her eyes swept over the wizard's battered frame. "Sirius? Sirius!" she cried as she gently tilted the man's face towards her, shaking her head as he slowly opened his pain-filled eyes before allowing them to slide shut once more. 

"Janet, get Jarod down here!" she ordered, her brown eyes sparking as she turned towards her secretary. "Janet!" she repeated as she took in the woman's pale and shaking frame, looking on the point of collapse. "Oh good God!" she hissed angrily before snapping towards the stunned computer technician. "Broots-"

"G-going," he quickly wheezed as he turned and stumbled towards the secretary's phone.

Nodding curtly, Miss Parker quickly dropped a light hand on the wizard's dirty, blood-stained cheek. "Hold on, Sirius, help is on the way," she murmured before quickly grabbing her purse and pulling out her cell phone. In seconds she found the number she was looking for and pushed the send button even as she turned back towards the secretary's desk. "Broots?"

"He's on his way," he confirmed as he slowly moved back towards them, his wide eyes never leaving the man that he had inadvertently brought into safety. The man that looked as though he had been knocking on Death's door for quite a while.

Nodding, Parker turned back to the battered man that was spread on the floor before her. "Come on, come on," she hissed as the line continued to ring.

* * *

Grinning, Buffy easily dodged beneath the gray demon's clumsy swipe before pivoting on her heel and retaliating with a kick then sent it stumbling back into the craggy stonework behind it. Turning, she quickly searched out Harry and the three demons that he was battling against, nodding as he levitated one and sent it crashing down a nearby well. "That's one way to-" she began, her words lost behind a pained grunt as another of the demons tackled her from the roof of a nearby building.

Wincing as her cheek scraped against the uneven edges of the cobbled street below her, Buffy quickly rolled to the side and scissored her legs up in a kick that knocked her attacker back into his friend. "Cheater," she muttered as she flipped back onto her feet, her long coat settling around her legs as she threw herself at the two and the other three behind them. In seconds she was ducking blows and sidestepping clawed swipes as she dove between one demon's legs and reclaimed the sword that she had lost a few minutes earlier. Grinning, she quickly stood and brandished the weapon at the demons before pivoting quickly and allowing the blade to swing free, neatly decapitating three of the five in one arc of the blade before gutting another.

Panting lightly now, Buffy worked on dislodging her blade from the demon's dead carcass as a shrill beeping echoed in the quiet night. Grunting, she ignored the cell phone's incessant chirping as she turned and lifted her blade threateningly towards the last demon, grimacing in disgust at the brown demon goo that dripped from the long blade. Lifting the sword a little higher, she slowly began advancing on her enemy even as it began to circle her - which was when the phone began to beep, again.

"Listen, are you going to answer that?" the demon asked suddenly, its deep voice grating like nails on a chalkboard as it stopped in its circling, obviously annoyed as it pointed its long, clawed hand at Buffy's jacket pocket.

Sighing, Buffy allowed her sword to drop as she met the demon's glowing, red eyes. "You don't mind?" she asked, a bright smile lifting her lips as she reached for the small phone. "I was going to turn it off, but we're hoping to hear from a friend," she explained as she checked the caller ID, a brief frown pulling at her lips as she recognized the name displayed.

"Seeing as how you won't be alive much longer and I will be feasting upon your carcass, you might as well take one last call," the demon reasoned as he indicated for her to go ahead.

"Gee, thanks," Buffy muttered, a wry smile lifting her lips as she pushed the 'send' button and lifted the phone to her ear. "Miss Parker?" she asked, as she idly began wiping her sword blade on the back of one of the dead demons.

"Buffy?" Parker's voice quickly cut through the static-filled connection.

"The one and only," Buffy returned with a small smile as she tucked the phone between her shoulder and her ear and raised her sword, beckoning for the demon to continue. "And you know what?" she continued as the demon dove forward, the small slayer gracefully dancing back and parrying its clawed strike against the steel edge of her blade. "I can still say that one. Because while there may be three slayers now, there's still only one of-"

"Buffy, we... Sirius," Parker cut in, her voice belying an urgency that Buffy had failed to recognize at first, despite the static that interrupted her message.

Practically dropping the phone as the crash of steel on bone echoed in the quiet, rural night, Buffy danced back and readjusted her hold on the phone. "What about Sirius?" she asked, not willing to allow her hope to blossom quite yet even as she became aware of Harry's eyes boring into her back.

"... have Sirius," Parker repeated, her voice crackling through the bad connection. "You... come........ real bad," she continued as Buffy's eyes grew wide.

Without waiting for more, Buffy quickly dove forward and drove her sword through the demon's slick hide, hoping that she hit the heart as she pulled the blade free and stabbed it in the ground before her. Seizing the phone with both hands, Buffy quickly turned to where Harry continued to battle against his two opponents, his attention obviously far too scattered to even attempt to use wandless magic as he instead weakly avoided the demons' deadly attacks. "We're on our way," she murmured, not caring if the message got through or not as she quickly snapped the phone shut, her eyes never leaving Harry's.

"What is it?" Harry grunted as he ducked another swipe, completely ignorant of the claw that tore through his jacket and drew blood in a long gash along his arm.

"Sirius is at the Centre," Buffy explained as she quickly reclaimed her sword and blocked the next attack that would have decapitated the wizard, grimacing as the demon's putrid breath washed over her. "I'll finish up here and then take the portkey over - you should go now," Buffy continued, pushing the demon back and colliding with his friend and buying her the time necessary to turn and take Harry's hands in her own. "I think he's hurt," she explained as she squeezed his hand gently, hating the fear that shone in his green eyes.

"But-"

"Take the portkey to Hogwarts," Buffy broke in as she quickly pulled a handful of small, white handkerchiefs from her deep coat pocket, each labeled with a different location. Fumbling through them, she quickly bypassed the one to the Council's headquarters and stuffed the one for the Centre in another pocket for later use, and finally pulled free the one that was labeled with Hogwarts' crest. "And don't wait for me," she instructed as she brushed a hurried kiss across his lips. "I'll catch up with you later," she finished before grabbing her sword and pushing Harry beneath one of the demon's furious swipes.

Nodding slowly, obviously in shock, Harry watched Buffy as she continued to battle for a few seconds more before he allowed his eyes to drift down to the small handkerchief he clutched with a death grip. Sirius. He needed to get to Sirius. And at the moment, it didn't matter that the Centre was a continent away from the rural plains of Malaysia. Instead, all that mattered was getting to his godfather when he needed him. Closing his eyes and allowing the sounds of the fight to die away, Harry pictured the large, marble foyer of the Centre in his mind's eye, focusing on that one thought as he channeled the magic within him. A second later he apparated, his disappearance marked with a sharp crack that echoed in the dark night.

Turning, Buffy allowed her eyes to trace over the spot where Harry once stood, the fear of what he would find in the States almost paralyzing her. But then, as three more demons emerged from the shadows in hopes of defeating the small slayer, Buffy found her attention focused once more on the fight before her - a fight for strangers. And once more, the sounds of battle filled the quiet night of the countryside while a half a world away, her friends fought for one of their own. She could only hope that they would both win their fights. 

* * *

Humming absently to herself, Celeste slowly moved through the quiet graveyard, her blue eyes drifting over the sun-dappled stones while she breathed in the scent of the freshly mowed lawn. To some, the French girl knew that her desire to see the dark places that she battled within in the light of day was probably very strange. Then again, to her, it was just another reminder that all darkness was passing, and at the end of each night, as at the end of each battle, there would always be a light to follow the dark. Just as the darkness that had been haunting her relationship with B'one was one of those passing instances. B'one.

Smiling softly, Celeste slowly stilled in her quiet walk as she thought of her watcher, a gentle smile lifting her lips. He had always been as a father to her, but it was a thought that always rest at the furthest corners of her mind. For how could she speak on something that had always been so forbidden? A slayer was never to have attachments of any kind, and those forbidden attachments included even those that involved a slayer's watcher. Yet how could a slayer be raised by someone for nine years and _not_ form even the most minute of attachments to their watcher? Such a thing was inconceivable to her, for she had been raised by B'one, and B'one was the only father that she had ever really known - the only one that she remembered. In the end, she had been raised as a slayer was meant to be raised - which made it all the more odd that she was sharing her sacred duty with two slayers that had somehow done things terribly backwards and come out even more powerful for it.

Frowning, Celeste continued her walk, her feet taking her on a familiar path as she crested a small hill and then paused before a single tomb. The stone was well cared for by her, and she always made a point to stop here at least for a little while on her daily walks to deliver the beautiful pebbles that she had found along the way. Flowers would have been better, of course, but even in the warmth of California, the beautiful plants still shunned the winter cold. No, in this case, the pretty stones would have to do, she realized as she gently added her small pebbles to those that already rest before the beautiful gravestone.

_Joyce Summers_

Celeste didn't remember her mother - or even if she had ever known her mother. When it came to her past, the only thing that Celeste remembered was the proud Frenchman who had raised her, guided her, taught her, and made her the slayer that she was today. In her mind, that was all that was needed. And before meeting Buffy Summers, she hadn't even thought about anything else - about the anything else that came before her time with her watcher. After all, Buffy herself had stated that her own watcher, Mr. Giles, was as a father to her, same as B'one was a father to Celeste. Yet when Buffy had asked what it had been like to be raised by her watcher, only then was she reminded that for this powerful slayer, she had lived with something more.

Buffy had been raised by a mother and father that had loved her - the parents that had birthed her. When her father had left, Giles had stepped in to take his place as she took her own place as the Slayer. And yet.. and yet Buffy continued to live with a mother's love. Celeste had never known a mother's love, yet by visiting the gravesite of Buffy's mother when Buffy could not, Celeste couldn't help but be reminded why B'one was all that she would ever need and that maybe... just maybe she was better for not having known a mother's love. After all, to have a mother's love when one was the slayer was to risk losing that love to Death's inevitably tight grip, and such was a loss that Celeste was quite thankful to have avoided.

Sighing softly, Celeste slowly bent down and brushed her fingers across the beautiful script before straightening once more. Bowing her head, she quickly murmured an old French prayer before turning away from the gravesite - and freezing as her eyes fell upon the beautiful, dark-haired man that stood before her. Instantly her heart began to hammer so hard that she feared it would break from her breast as her palms became slick with sweat. Slowly, ever so slowly she began to back away from the man as his beautiful lips lifted in a serene smile. But then, even her retreat was halted as her back collided with the soft contours of a feminine body. Gasping, she quickly spun away, her large blue eyes growing wide in terror.

"I hear that you're the Slayer," Serantine murmured, her musical voice sending chills up and down Celeste's spine.

"O-one of two," Celeste stammered, hating the weakness in her voice as she recalled the ease in which Dahmascus had battled with she and Faith.

Nodding slowly, Dahmascus matched steps with Serantine as they closed in on the obviously frightened young girl that was even now dropping down into a defensive crouch. "We only need one." 

* * *

Snorting quietly at the glares that Faith and Bertrone were directing at one another, Willow hurried over to the phone that was mounted on the kitchen wall. For some reason, it didn't seem to matter to the two that the youngest slayer and her watcher had made amends back on Christmas, for the hostility was ever present - and extremely amusing to those who were willing to watch the unending fireworks display. "Scooby Central," the redhead chirped as she put the phone to her ear, her eyes never leaving the kitchen counter where Faith was busy scowling at the watcher as he made his own special brand of coffee.

"Willow, it's Buffy," the blonde slayer's voice sighed through the phone. "Sirius has turned up," she added, obviously too worn for the niceties as she skipped right to the point.

"What?" Willow gasped, her eyes growing wide as Bertrone and Faith instantly turned towards her. "Where was he? What happened? Is he okay?" she babbled even as the room fell deathly silent around her.

Her only reply was a heavy sigh that instantly caused Willow's heart to hammer. "No... no Wills, he's not," Buffy returned after a lengthy pause. "I didn't get here in time to see him myself, but Miss Parker said that she thinks Jarod was able to stabilize him before he and Harry took him to Hogwarts."

"But what happened?" Willow persisted, tears glimmering in her green eyes as she clutched the phone in her hand. "Jarod?" she asked, confused by Buffy's words.

"Yeah, I'm at the Centre right now."

"The Centre?" Willow continued, becoming even more bewildered by the second. "But I thought that last we heard, he was in-"

"New York," Buffy cut in as she sighed heavily once more. "I know."

"But that... that's impossible!" she whispered, shaking her head slowly. "That would mean that he... was it the Hell Gods?" she murmured, her grip becoming even more tight as Faith slowly abandoned her stool, her dark eyes never leaving Willow.

"Had to of been," Buffy mumbled, her voice becoming muffled. "Parker said that he was... that he was worked over real bad, and that most of the injuries looked at least a few days old. And he's sick too - probably delirious. To be honest, she was talking like she didn't even know how he had made it here."

"But why didn't he just go to a hospital? Or the police or-"

"I don't think... I don't think he even consciously knew what he was doing. Willow it's... it's really bad," the slayer whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

Frowning in concern, Willow quickly waved Faith away as she twisted away from the slayer's insistent reach. "Are you alright?"

"Me?" Buffy asked before laughing bitterly. "I'm the one that everyone's trying to keep out of this, remember?" she continued before sighing once more through the line. "I'm fine, Wills, I just wanted to let you know that.. that the game is up," she murmured, sounding so incredibly tired that Willow felt her heart going out to her friend. "You guys need to be careful, 'cuz if they found out about Sirius, they may be heading your way."

"We will," Willow promised, wishing nothing more than that she could give her best friend the hug that she so obviously needed. "I promise," she added before saying her goodbyes and slowly returning the handheld to its cradle.

"What's wrong?" Faith quickly demanded, practically pouncing on the wiccan as her eyes took in Willow's haggard appearance.

"That was Buffy," Willow whispered as she tried in vain to sort out the information that she had been given. "The Hell Gods got to Sirius and Buffy's worried that they may be heading back to Sunnydale. We need to-"

"Celeste," Bertrone interrupted, his eyes growing wide and panicked as he met Faith's - slightly startled to see that her expression mirrored his own concern. "She went for a walk in the grave-"

"Let's go," Faith cut in, sliding from her stood and stalking towards the door as Bertrone fell into step behind her. "Willow, get the others," she added before disappearing into the bright afternoon sunshine. "Let them know what's going on and wait for us. Once we're back with the Kid we're hitting red alert."

* * *

Sobbing quietly, Celeste felt the tears pour down her pale and bloody cheeks, long past caring at this small show of weakness. After all, what was tears when faced with the incredible pain that she had endured? She was barely fifteen - a child - and despite her years of preparation to become the Slayer, nothing had ever prepared her for this. When a slayer died, it was supposed to be quick and in the heat of battle. Never slowly. Never torturously. And never when consumed by such agony.

"Shh shh," a soft, feminine voice whispered in her ear, a soft caress of the smoothest skin falling lightly on her blood-slicked brow. "Don't cry, my little one," the voice continued as Celeste whimpered piteously and vainly tried to pull herself from the hated touch. But she no longer had the strength nor the will to give her broken body even that small respite.

It seemed like days, weeks, and months had passed since she had been strolling through the sunlit graveyard, her mind millions of miles from the troubles of the world. In reality, she knew that it most likely had been only hours - but that thought offered no comfort. And while fear had threatened to paralyze her, Celeste knew somewhere deep inside that she had fought bravely and with every ounce of slayer prowess behind her. But what chance did a lone slayer stand against two hell gods? None, of course, and all too soon her world had gone black, the darkness only lifting to reveal the dank, dark chambers that had become her entire world. The flickering torches, the smell of the earth encompassing her, and the crumbled stone that surrounded her easily marked the crypt for what it was - one of many that littered the cemeteries of Sunnydale. A tomb - her tomb - that was buried far beneath the earth in a place where no one would hear her screams. And scream she did.

The gods had allowed her to claim her feet upon regaining consciousness and before beginning their games. And games they were, for at first they merely toyed with her as they easily blocked her strongest blows and lightly tossed her to the side But all too soon they tired of the game and only then did the real punishment begin as they rained unforgiving blows upon her young body, beating her to the ground and the brink of unconsciousness. Even then the pain had been great, but never once did Celeste call out or reply to their furious questions - always storming about their Key. Instead, she bit her lip until it bled as she curled into a small ball and prayed for the end to come. Unfortunately, the centuries spent on their world had taught the gods patience and they would never allow her such an easy escape. Rather, once they tired of the beating and when she was too bloody and broken to fight, only then did they relent, stealing from her the blessed escape of unconsciousness.

Next Serantine and Dahmascus had settled her beaten and broken body on top of a stone sarcophagus before the goddess began to lovingly stroke her battered face, urging for her to answer their questions as she gently gathered her hand in her own - before slowly bending back each finger until it snapped like dry tender. By this point the pain was far too extreme, the punishment too brutal for any hope of escape and her screams came unbidden as they were torn from her raw throat, the tears streaming down her bloody face and causing her shoulders to shake in muffled sobs. Yet even then, she didn't break.

And so the torture had continued, each pain coming greater than the last until she no longer even had breath to scream out her torment. Soon her thoughts became muddled and lost as she rode each wave of agony, no longer able to think past what her body was enduring. Had there ever been anything else besides this agony? Had she ever known peace before? The young French girl thought not, the tears streaming down her face as she called out for B'one, even though she could no longer remember what the word meant.

Moaning softly as a fiery heat grazed against her cheek, Celeste opened bleary blue eyes that instinctively focused on the bright light that danced before her vision. Slowly it moved one way, and then another, and without conscious thought her dilated pupils followed the dancing light as it drew closer and closer to her eyes. Unconsciously trying to shrink away from the heat that began to burn her, she froze as her eyes followed the dancing light until it finally settled against the skin below her right eye in an agonizing sear of burning flesh. Ripped muscles tensing, Celeste felt her back arch as her breath became locked in her throat, her nails digging in and breaking against the cold stone beneath her before another scream was torn from her throat. Her heart crashing against the bones in her chest, the small slayer remained locked this way until Serantine nodded at Dahmascus, the indifferent god finally relenting and pulling away the burning metal as the girl sagged once more onto the stone, her pained whimpers and mumbled French wheezing between bloody lips.

"Now, ma petite. You must stop with this nonsense," Serantine murmured as she gently stroked the girl's unmarked cheek, a small smile pulling at her lips as she eyed the black, scorched skin that would forever mar the girl's beauty - one of many reminders of this day that would never fade. Not that she would live much longer to enjoy it. "You are alone with us and there is no reason to continue with this silence. We want our key, and unless you tell us, we will merely move on to the other Slayer and leave this world with none."

"Pas vrai," Celeste murmured, the tears dripping from her eyes and falling into the agonizing burn that sent tendrils of pain up and down her battered and broken body. "Ce n'est pas vrai," she whimpered incoherently.

"No, no, my dear, it's quite true," Serantine corrected with a small, patient smile. "We will kill you both and then we will find and kill your inept replacements. There will never be a slayer to protect this world and all of the people in it. You will have fail-"

"Non ! Elle va continuera de protéger à notre place. Elle est puissante et-"

"Who will?" Dahm cut in, his voice uncommonly gentle as he stepped to the other side of the girl, his hands turning her face until her bleary, unseeing eyes were locked with his. And when she merely moaned and allowed her eyes to fall shut, the god quickly lost whatever patience he had been mastering as he purposefully dug his finger into the seeping burn that marred the girl's cheek, her eyes snapping open and her breath growing ragged around the pain. "Who will protect in your place? Who's powerful?" he asked as the girl twitched beneath his touch.

"La première," Celeste sobbed, breaking as the pain finally became too much. She was the slayer, but she was also a child. A child who had finally been pushed beyond her final endurance. "Il y en a trois maintenant, trois et elle est la première"

"And this first slayer... she has our key?" Serantine asked, her eyes alight with an inner fire as Dahm dug his finger cruelly into the open wound.

For a moment more the slayer writhed beneath the god's ministrations before she could take no longer, the jagged word leaving her lips amidst a scream of new agony. "_OUI!!_" she bellowed, her back arching and then falling down as Dahmascus promptly pulled his finger away, absently rubbing the charred gore on the fine material of his trousers.

"Well now, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" he murmured absently as he glanced down disdainfully at the sobbing wreck of the slayer that lay before them.

As her brow creased in thought, Serantine gracefully stepped away from the child, absently wiping at the stray blood splatter that marred her pants. "So there is a third slayer," she mused, tapping one long nail against her chin as her eyes surveyed the brightly lit crypt. "And she has our Key," she murmured before turning back to where the girl's whimpers had fallen silent, and frowning as her fellow god pulled his fingers free of the girl's head, a soft blue light dying away as he smiled serenely. "Are you quite finished?" she murmured, bristling as Dahm slowly stepped back, his eyes lingering on the silent, tortured girl.

"She wouldn't have told us anything else," he defended absently as he joined Serantine before the large tomb. "She-" he began, his words lost beneath the crash of the crypt doors as they were knocked from their rusted hinges and rocked to the floor, a cloud of dust and grime billowing up and encasing the two Hell Gods. Waving his hand irritably, Dahm waited for the dust to settle before allowing a small smile to lift his lips at the sight before him. "Well, well - if it isn't the second slayer," he murmured, his gaze locking on Faith's narrowed brown eyes. "Or would that be third? And she's brought friends," he added as his gaze slid over the tall, dark-haired boy who brandished a crossbow, a slender red-haired girl who was clutching the hand of a taller brunette, and a slender man with graying hair that matched his pain-filled eyes - eyes that were locked on the girl that lay on the tomb behind he and Serantine.

"Celeste," the older man whispered, the word practically torn from his throat as he stumbled forward, only to be held back by the dark-haired slayer who was trying valiantly to hide the tears that burned in her brown eyes.

"You're going to pay for this," Faith whispered, her eyes narrowing upon the two gods even as Serantine rolled her eyes at the display and slowly stepped forward.

Yet for each step that the hell goddess took forward, the group recoiled just that much away from her as a naked fear burned from their eyes. Smiling, Serantine cocked her head to the side as she realized that somehow, these children knew of her. They knew of her and what she was, and in the time since her last encounter with the dark-haired slayer, the child had learned to respect and fear her. And even as the girl obviously struggled with herself, as they _all_ struggled to hold back their anger and restrain themselves from starting a battle that everyone knew they would never finish, Serantine couldn't help the smile of amusement that played with her full lips. 

It only took one look at Dahm to see that her fellow god was still eager for more bloodshed and violence - blood and violence that could come easily in the form of the humans that surrounded them. Then again, violence wasn't the only thing that drove Serantine, and the heartache and suffering, the pain and anger that radiated off of every single human that filled the dank crypt as their eyes always slid past to the young girl they had broken was more beautiful than any scream they could force from their weak throats. 

Grinning, she slowly inclined her head once at the dark-haired slayer as a promise of things to come. "Come, Dahmascus," she murmured as she strode forward, the group instantly parting before her lean form and filling into the crypt behind her, her fellow god falling into step beside her as he leveled a charming smile at the frightened teens. "We have what we wanted," she added, smiling slyly at the girl's broken body before sweeping out of the crypt and into the dark night.

In seconds, Bertrone shrugged Faith's hand from his arm as he quickly crossed over to the tomb that bore his slayer's broken body. As the tears burned his vision, his empty gray eyes took in the blood that liberally covered her ripped and torn clothing, the bruising that marred her pale skin, and the ugly burn that wept a hideous yellow fluid. Torn between shaking with grief and burning with anger, he slowly reached his old, weathered hands forward to take her small hands in his - and froze, choking as he took in the fingers that were cruelly bent in ways they were never meant to be. "Oh ma petite... what have they done to you?" he whispered in a choked voice as he wearily bent his head forward and rest it against her bloody chest - and froze as he felt the cloth move beneath his skin.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Silence.

"Someone get an ambulance!" he suddenly roared, causing the others to jump in shock as the French watcher practically surged forward, his fingers frantically feeling for the girl's thready pulse even as he felt hope surge against his breast. "Celeste? Celeste!" he murmured, his voice cracking as he hurriedly reached forward and pressed his shaking fingers against her bloody cheek, idly aware of Xander's panicked voice as he gave directions to the 911 operator. "Hold on, ma petite. Do not leave me now," he whispered as Willow and Tara moved beside him, the two wiccans sorting through the bottled potions that they had carried with them in the hopes that they were not too late. But even now... even now that hope was slipping.

**To be continued...**

Translations:  
_ ma petite_ = my little one (term of endearment)  
_ pas vrai, ce n'est pas vrai _ = not true, it's not true  
_Elle va continuer de protéger _ à _notre place. Elle est puissante et_ = She'll continue to protect in our place. She's powerful and-  
_La première_ = the first  
_ Il y en a trois maintenant, trois et elle est la première_ = There are three now, three and she is the first.


	13. Chapter 13

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 13"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: Would you believe that I think I've finally hammered out the rest of the story?? Tentatively, I'm placing this story at a total of a mere 22 chapters... that's it folks, 22 chapters and we're _done!!_ That means only eight chapters until the end.. and not even I had realized we were that close to completion!! After all, that's about 10 chapters shorter than the previous two... then again, I think that the actual size will probably be the same because you guys have become spoiled with these monster chapters I keep giving you! ;p Anyway, once I actually finish writing this story, I'll try to increase the updating pace... just remember that the sooner I hear from y'all, the sooner that I'll post again. While in part a simple ploy to gain more reviews from my wonderful readers, it also helps me to ensure that I'm posting just fast enough to give everyone a chance to enjoy the story, one chapter at a time. And yes, I realize that's quite cruel, but what can I say?? So, please keep reviewing and I hope that you all are loving the story!

Also, a HUGE thanks to Vld for the French translation corrections on the last chapter. I guess that it's been longer since I've spoken fluent French than I remember... as in too long. Hehe. My bad!

* * *

For all that anyone could have known, days may have passed since passing through the swinging doors, faces white, breathing erratic, eyes wide and fearful, and hearts beating and breaking over the uncertain fate of the young girl that had passed through the doors moments earlier. Then again, time held no meaning in the sterile room in which they sat, each lost in thoughts and silent recriminations - and worse, the memories of what they had arrived too late to prevent. For while the potions had stabilized Celeste's shallow breathing and returned some semblance of color to her cheeks, mended some of the hurts while restoring the girl to consciousness... while the potions had done all of this, the one thing that they couldn't do was erase the blank stare from Celeste's blue eyes nor make sense of her incoherent ramblings. They couldn't restore to Celeste what had so obviously been taken. Thus, in the end, they couldn't make her whole.

"Bertrone," Willow whispered, watery green eyes lifting from her pale hands as the tired watcher shuffled into the familiar waiting room, looking far older than she had ever seen him before. Instantly she and Tara stood to meet him even as Xander and Faith joined them from their own chairs across the room. "How... how is she?" she asked as she instinctively entwined her fingers with her girlfriend's, drawing strength from her warm grip.

For a moment, Bertrone didn't know quite how to respond to the girl's tearful question, the doctor's words still whirling madly in his mind. Did he tell them of the splints that they had to place along each of Celeste's ten beautiful fingers? Did he tell them about the numerous broken ribs? About the one that had punctured her left lung? Did he tell about the narrow spikes that had been driven through her skin until they grazed her liver and ruptured one of her kidneys? Did he tell about the internal bleeding and the torn muscles, the lash marks, the swelling or the deep cuts? Did he tell about the ugly burn that even now marred his slayer's beautiful skin and that nearly cost his Celeste her right eye? Did he tell them about any of this? About the doctor's grim pronouncements about the length of her recovery - a recovery that not even magic could speed? No, he wouldn't tell them any of this, for there was only one thing they truly wanted to know. They didn't want to know about how his Celeste had suffered for they had seen the evidence of her suffering firsthand. Instead, they only wanted reassurances. 

"It will take time, but the doctor expects that she will recover physically in time," he murmured, his voice heavy and his eyes bleak as he looked into their young eyes. "With the potions that we had given her and thanks to her slayer healing, she will most likely not even scar," he added, shrugging wearily. "But mentally..."

"They took something from her, didn't they?" Xander asked, recalling the confusion that had shined in the girl's blue eyes. She hadn't recognized them. Any of them. Not even her watcher. Instead, she had been hurt and confused... so confused.

"Yes," Bertrone sighed, tears burning in his gray eyes as he despondently turned away from the young people. "And that is something that she can never get back," he added before slowly walking back towards the door that would lead him to his ward. Without looking back, the aged watcher slowly shuffled down the hall and then paused in the open doorway of his slayer's room. Frozen on the threshold, his gaze slid over the tall girl, barely recognizable with skin as white as the sheets that she lay upon and covered in a myriad of yellowing bruises and gauze wrappings, with a crown of the darkest black surrounding her drawn face and trailing over the edges of the high sheet. Forcing himself forward, Bertrone gently eased the door closed behind him and moved until he was standing beside the high bed, one hand absently reaching forward to brush a strand of fine, black hair from her high forehead even as his fingers played with the edge of her starched pillow.

There was no doubt in the mind of Watcher Monsieur Robert Bertrone that Dahmascus and Serantine were Hell Gods. There was no doubt in his mind that they were not cruel. After all, instead of sparing his slayer, instead of killing her and giving her release, they instead condemned his beloved ward to a fate that was worse than death: to have whatever small part of her that remained be forever locked in a body that continued to live on. A fate that Bertrone was only now coming to understand, for after all, in all ways that mattered, his Slayer was already dead and all that remained was a shell of the girl that he had loved more than life itself. He would have died for his slayer, and instead, she had died for her sacred duty. And just as the death of his father's slayer had destroyed the man that Bertrone had always loved and admired, he knew that the death of his beloved Celeste would destroy him just as well. For how could anyone survive the aching hole that the Hell Gods had just ripped in his chest?

"Ah ma petite," he murmured, his broken voice sounding unusually loud in the small, dark room as he gazed forlornly at his battered slayer. "You have done so well, so well indeed," he whispered as he gently bent low and brushed a dry kiss over her smooth forehead. "But now... now it is time for you to finally rest," he murmured as he slowly reached one trembling hand forward and then settled it heavily over her fair features - his large hand easily smothering her nose and mouth and blocking the air from entering her battered lungs. 

Within seconds the instincts that had failed to be taken with his slayer's mind began to kick in as she began to squirm under his firm grip. Yet whether her blue eyes opened to search out his face, Bertrone never knew as his eyes were too hazed with tears, a deep sob wracking his body as the machines that were hooked to his slayer's lean frame began to sound their alarms. "Your fight is over," he whispered between choked breaths as the door crashed open behind him, a frantic nurse trying in vain to pry his arm away before hurrying into the hall for help. "It is time for the next slayer to be called," he added as his slayer's frantic movements began to slow. "Be at peace," he murmured as her movements finally stilled as he slipped into a fervent French prayer - one that was cut off mid-word as powerful hands gripped his arms and bodily tore him from his place and shoved him against the far wall.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?!" Faith demanded, her wide, horrified eyes locked on the broken man that sagged against the wall before her - the man that had become a stranger the moment that she had rushed in, alerted by the nurse's frantic calls, only to see a sight that had chilled her to her core. A watcher that was killing his slayer.

"I was doing my slayer a mercy," Bertrone murmured, his hollow gray eyes sliding past the dark-haired slayer until they were locked on the doctors that were frantically working over Celeste's still body. "She should be safe now. Her duty is done," he whispered hoarsely, idly aware of the other teens gathered around them. "And the next slayer must be called," he murmured, teary eyes turning back to the dark-haired slayer's furious brown eyes - just in time to see her fist rocketing towards him before everything exploded in a shower of fiery pain that quickly turned to the deepest darkness.

As the French watcher crumpled to the floor, Faith angrily cradled her hand against her chest, knowing that she had most likely broken the man's chin but not caring after what she had just witnessed. "And you wonder why I didn't want another watcher," she muttered, dark eyes raising to glare at the Scoobies, daring them to reprimand her for her actions. And when not a word was uttered, Faith turned back and spit on Bertrone's unmoving figure before angrily turning and stalking from the room. "I'm calling the Council."

* * *

"You can take the call in here," Jarod explained as he stepped into his dark office, flipping on a small desk lamp as the small slayer settled into the large armchair that he had indicated behind him.

"And you did say on your computer, right?" Buffy clarified as the Pretender's fingers flew over the keyboard situated before him.

"Yes, a video call," Jarod agreed as he threw the girl a small smile. "It's generally how we keep in touch with Willow and the others," he explained as he pointed to the small camera that was mounted to the top of the monitor. "We're just lucky that you're still waiting on someone to arrive with a portkey to bring you to Hogwarts," he added, shrugging absently as he turned back and finished making the connection with a few small keystrokes. Seconds later, the screen before him flickered to life to reveal not Willow, but another Scooby's shadowed face.

"Faith," Buffy greeted, frowning softly as she took in the girl's pale features and the dark circles that lined her brown eyes. Turning, she absently nodded her thanks as Jarod silently slipped from the room, leaving the door ajar behind him, before turning back to her sister slayer. "What's wrong?" she asked, knowing instinctively that something had happened. And judging by the slayer's dark expression, whatever it was, it hadn't been good.

"The Hell Gods happened," Faith murmured after a slight pause, her expression darkening. "Celeste is in the hospital."

"Is she alright?" Buffy countered, her own features darkening as her hands clenched in her lap.

"No, she isn't," Faith returned as her eyes narrowed into thin slits. "The bitch and her freak cohort started the job, but it was the Kid's watcher that tried to finish it."

"What?" Buffy gasped, her eyes growing wide at the implications of Faith's words. "I don't under-"

"They took something from her, B - took something from her head and there's nothing we can do to get it back," Faith cut in, her anger falling away to reveal the raw pain that burned beneath the slayer's skin. "Bertie knew this and apparently decided that as her watcher, it was his duty to see it through and call the next slayer. They got her back, but not before the next slayer was called."

"Another slayer?" Buffy murmured, her mind frantically trying to keep up with the information that was being fed to her.

"Yeah, I've already heard from the Council," Faith sighed as she waved her hand irritably before the computer screen. "Some Asian chit that doesn't even speak English. Her watcher contacted the Council the moment she was called and Fellows is still trying to sort it all out."

Feeling numb and more than a little sick, Buffy slowly sat back in the plush leather chair, her head beginning to pound as Faith's words began to sink in. Celeste was gone - out for the count and it was all because- "I was too late," she stated, quietly voicing the words aloud even as they thundered inside her mind, her heart practically breaking as she realized how fully she had failed her friends. How fully she had failed Celeste. "I warned you too late," she murmured, tears clouding her eyes as she pictured the lively French girl that she had only truly gotten to know a few weeks prior. The girl that had been so full of life and love for her watcher. The girl that had been sacrificed for something that shouldn't have been hers.

"No," Faith stated, her voice solemn and serious as she broke in on Buffy's inner torment. "It wasn't your fault," she quickly continued, her eyes burning with anger as Buffy slowly turned back to the computer monitor. "We went to look for the Kid right after Willow got off the phone with you, but we couldn't find her. So while Bertie gathered the group, I visited our old friend Willy and managed to beat it out of him that a couple of demons were in earlier that day, complaining about getting kicked out of their crypt by a couple of unknowns. B," she murmured, her eyes locking with Buffy's, "we just got there too late."

Sighing, Buffy slowly lifted a hand to her forehead, feeling as though she had a hundred-pound weight attached to the limb. How could things have gone so wrong so quickly? First Sirius, and now Celeste and now... and now what were they to do? "I'm coming to the Hellmouth," Buffy murmured, her voice growing hard as she finally lifted her eyes to Faith's once more, her green eyes daring the other slayer to argue - which was far easier than it would have been for anyone else, considering that Faith wasn't easily intimidated - especially by a fellow slayer.

"The hell you are," Faith snapped, her brown eyes turning stormy. "We don't know if they got anything useful out of the Kid, but from the way they were talking... it's better to be on the safe side of this," she murmured as her eyes turned away from the screen and stared at something that was just outside the view of the camera lens. "Listen, B - you should really get out of there. Get underground or something," she murmured, her eyes turning once more back to Buffy. And it was what was shining in her friend's eyes, more than anything else, that caused Buffy to straighten and finally pay attention to what her sister slayer was saying. For no matter what she and Faith had faced together in the past, the rogue slayer had never known the naked fear that was displayed in her dark eyes. "Buffy," she continued, startling them both as she used Buffy's given name for the first time in - well, probably ever. "Dahm and Ser? They're some bad shit. I mean some really bad shit. If you see them..." she murmured, her eyes once more drifting off-screen before turning once more back to Buffy. "If you see them, you run," she finished, her eyes growing hard.

"Faith, I-"

"Don't fight," the dark-haired slayer quickly cut in as her face grew larger on the screen as she obviously leaned towards her own camera. "Just run."

Sighing, Buffy slowly and reluctantly nodded her head. "Okay," she murmured, hating the feeling of the word as it slipped from her lips. "Okay," she repeated, this time more as a resigned sigh as she wearily rubbed her hands over her face.

Nodding once, Faith slowly looked away once more before smiling wanly at Buffy. "Gotta jet. Take care of yourself, B, and call if you need us."

"I will," Buffy promised, smiling softly as she gently pressed her hand against the monitor, watching as Faith mimicked her movements until their hands seemed to be pressed against one another with a small pane of glass to separate them. "Take care," she whispered as Faith nodded her head and then cut the connection, the screen fading into a blue haze that bathed her in its glow. Sighing, Buffy slowly leaned back in her chair, her eyes looking at nothing and everything all at once as she absently replayed the conversation in her mind. _~Go underground. Don't fight. Just run.~_

"Hey."

Startled, Buffy quickly jumped to her feet and turned towards the door, her eyes alighting on Harry's tall, shadowed form. "How is he?" she asked, her feet not quite willing to carry her past the desk and into the arms that she so desperately craved. Instead, she remained where she stood, her heart aching as she felt as though an entire canyon had been cut between them._ ~Go underground. Run.~_

"Madam Pomfrey promises a full recovery if she can merely keep him in bed long enough to do so," he replied, his voice low as he slowly stepped through the open doorway and crossed until he was standing before her, noting her pale complexion and the dark circles that lined her green eyes. "Remus is with him now."

Sighing in relief, Buffy slowly allowed her eyes to slide shut as she practically fell into the leather chair once again. "I take it you heard," she murmured, not bothering to open her eyes as she heard Harry settle on the edge of the desk before her. Not that she needed to hear him in order to place Harry's location. No, her other senses were far more accurate for keeping track of her boyfriend.

"Enough," Harry agreed, his voice solemn as his eyes traced over her tired features. It seemed like forever since he had seen her eyes crinkled in delight as a smile lifted her full lips. Could it really only have been a few weeks since Christmas and when the future had seemed to bright, if even for just a few days? "I stopped by the hotel in Malaysia on my way to get our stuff. We should leave soon."

"No, _I_ should leave soon," Buffy corrected with a small sigh as she finally opened her eyes in time to see Harry's features settle in a small frown. "Harry, you shouldn't come with me - not this time," she explained as she slowly leaned forward and caught Harry's large hand in her own. "You should be with Sirius right now - and besides, you're just putting yourself in danger by being with me. It's me they want," she added, her words falling to a whisper as the image of Celeste came unbidden to her mind's eye - the image of Sirius so battered and broken. Two innocent people that had been hurt to keep the Key safe. Two people hurt to keep _her_ safe. Sighing through her tears, Buffy lifted glimmering eyes until they were locked on Harry's face, one small hand lifting until it cupped his smooth cheek against her skin. "Harry, I'd die if anything happened to you," she admitted, hearing the truth behind her words even as Harry gently slid forward until he was perched on his knees before her.

"Nothing will," he promised as he gently lifted Buffy's hand from his cheek and pressed a kiss against her warm skin. "And besides, Remus won't let Sirius out of his sight - not after this," he added, a small, tentative smile pulling at his lips. "And I couldn't leave you even if I wanted - which I don't. You didn't leave me to face Voldemort alone, and I won't leave you now. We're in this together."

"Yes," another voice added from the open doorway behind them. Turning, the two teens watched as Samuel Fellows stepped into the dimly lit room, a small smile lifting his tired features. "You two are in this together. And neither are you alone."

* * *

Sighing softly, Buffy watched as the red sun cast its sparkling rays through the leafy fronds of the palms that surrounded her large blanket, the heat from the soft sand soaking through the thin cotton and warming her glistening skin. The heat was like a soothing balm against the fear and uncertainty that had been dodging her every thought for the past few months - a warm lull that penetrated the guilt and despair that she had warred with since learning of Celeste's fate and which caused all of her worries to float away on the surf that crashed against the shore of the beach a few feet away. "Hmm... now this is more like it," she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut against the setting sun's bright rays, a contented smile pulling at her lips.

"You could say that again," Harry agreed as he slowly propped himself up on an elbow, one hand running through his messy black hair as his eyes drank in the sight of Buffy's golden skin - all curves and skin and very little material. "I think that the Caribbean will always be my favorite place in which to go underground," he added as his hand gently swept away a few grains of sand from her small stomach.

Catching Harry's hand in her own, Buffy cracked one green eye at her boyfriend, grinning despite herself as she allowed her eyes to skim over his broad, tanned shoulders that tapered down into a narrow waist that ended just above the upper lip of his swim shorts. "Just so you can always see me so scantily clad, Mr. Potter?" she asked as she smiled slyly at her boyfriend, loving the way the warm breeze tousled his perpetually messy black hair, the azure sky a perfect background to their paradise.

"Well, there's that," Harry agreed with a small smile. "And then there's that," he added as he jerked his thumb behind him.

Sitting up, Buffy followed Harry's gaze to the dozen or so Council wizards and witches that were standing guard up and down the deserted beach, their black robes obviously stifling despite the cooling charms they had placed on the heavy material. "Yeah, we never got this kind of entertainment in Malaysia," Buffy agreed, shaking her head idly as one wizard lifted his wand and muttered a soft spell that caused a spray of water to fall from his wand's tip and splash over his sweaty face. "Although, they do kind of detract from the romantic ambience we had working for us last time, don't they?" she asked absently as she caught one particularly matronly witch eyeing her black bikini with evident disdain.

"A bit," Harry admitted as he scowled at another wizard that couldn't seem to keep his eyes from Buffy, either - although the look in his eyes was far from disdain. "Yet you know as well as I do that there was no way either Giles or Mister Fellows were going to allow us to disappear again - not to mention how Sirius would have felt on the subject had we the time to ask him."

"How _is_ Sirius?" Buffy asked, a small frown playing at her lips as Harry sighed audibly beside her. After all, while it had only been a week since Sirius had turned up, Sunnydale had been attacked, and she and Harry had gone underground, it already felt like ages to the small slayer. For while she and Harry had already played this game before, somehow it was different this time. She was, once more, a full-fledged Slayer who had been doing her sacred duty up until a week ago. And now... well now, it once more felt like she had been cut from the team - only this time, it wasn't a lack of slayer strength and stamina that kept her from her job. And despite the relaxing nature of the beach, Buffy couldn't help but realize that the gnawing feeling that she felt at the back of her mind was none other than boredom. Complete and utter boredom. What she wouldn't give for a good fight right about-

Yet whatever idle musings she had been entertaining, nor whatever response Harry was going to give to her question, were both quickly forgotten as a woman's scream rent the balmy air. Scrambling to their feet, the two teens turned as one and watched as a tall, beautifully sculpted man with raven-dark hair, clothed in loose-fitting khaki pants and a billowing white shirt literally ripped one of the Council witches limb from limb, her red blood spilling from her broken body and painting the white sand crimson.

"Dahmascus," Buffy whispered, knowing instinctively that this was the infamous Hell God that had wreaked so much havoc with her friends and the one that had stolen Celeste's sanity. Fists clenching at her sides, Buffy quickly started forward even as the other Council guards overcame their shocked horror at the gruesome sight and hurried to meet the God, numerous spells rolling off of their lips. But within seconds Buffy's steps were halted as Harry gripped her upper arm in a vice-like grip.

"No, Buffy," he quickly cautioned, his eyes narrowing upon the Hell God and the devastation he was causing amongst their guard's ranks. "You remember what Faith said-"

"I'm not going to run and leave these people," Buffy quickly ground out as she shook off his arm, only to have it replaced by both hands on her shoulders as he spun her around until he was looking into her narrowed green eyes.

"I don't want to run anymore than you do. But sometimes you don't have a choice," Harry retorted, his eyes flashing as the memory of the Tri-Wizard Tournament rose unbidden from his mind. That day he had faced Lord Voldemort himself when he was no more than a scared, traumatized fourteen year old kid. That day he had listened to his dead parents' urging and he had run for all that he was worth - and by running, he had lived to fight another day. He had lived to see the day when Lord Voldemort finally fell by his hand. And as Buffy's green eyes slowly met his own, he knew that Buffy was fighting with the fact that in her case, she had never run. She was a Slayer, and Slayers didn't run from a fight.

Sighing, he quickly changed tactics. "If you stay, you're just going to give them what they want," he murmured, praying that his words would get through to the small girl even as a man's agonized shriek broke above the pained chaos just a few feet down the beach, the small slayer tensing under his hands as her green eyes slid shut. "Buffy, there's nothing we can do here - either of us," he murmured, his voice softening as he gently turned her so that she could see for herself the way the god seemed to walk straight through whatever incantation was tossed his way. "This is no place for a Slayer or a Wizard - we need to take the portkey and go," he whispered, hating the decision that was being forced upon them even as he realized it was the only way.

Practically trembling beneath his touch, Buffy allowed her eyes to slide shut as she slowly stepped away, her arms wrapping around her small frame as the pained cries of the Council guards fell eerily silent. A silence that could mean only one thing. "Let's go," she murmured, fighting the nausea that was welling up within her as she finally opened her green eyes - and froze as she took in the tall, red-haired woman dressed in a simple cotton shift that stood behind her boyfriend, her thin arm snaked around Harry's neck in a hold so tight that with the slightest of pressure, the goddess could snap Harry's neck faster than Buffy could reach him.

"Serantine," Buffy murmured, her eyes narrowing on the gray-eyed goddess before sliding to Harry's wide green eyes - eyes that were slowly, and pointedly moving from her own face and down to the blanket beside her. Slowly, Buffy followed his gaze until her eyes locked on the simple white handkerchief that lay so innocently on the beach blanket beside her.

The portkey.

"The third slayer," Serantine returned, her voice a musical caress that was carried on the warm breeze as she smiled innocently at Buffy. "Whatever happened to the Chosen One?"

"Oh, we thought that we'd spread the love a little," Buffy returned flippantly, throwing the goddess a brief grin as she began to edge closer towards the blanket - only to freeze as her senses practically screamed at her in warning - a warning that came too late. Muscles clenching almost painfully, Buffy dove towards the blanket, her fingers stretching towards the portkey - only to be knocked aside, her breath leaving her in a painful gasp as she tumbled onto the sand.

Groaning, she weakly spit the gritty particles from her mouth as she slowly lifted her head, her eyes narrowing on the sight of Dahmascus as he slowly bent to retrieve their portkey. "Oh, now I don't think that you'll be needing this," he murmured, his voice low and melodious as he tore the key into miniature shreds that drifted away on a warm breeze. And then, before Buffy even had a chance to regain her feet he was beside her, having moved so fast that not even her eyes could follow him as his hand latched onto her arm and forcibly pulled her to her feet and twisting her around until her back was pressed against the hard planes of his chest. Grimacing as two strong arms wrapped around her slim waist and pinned her arms to her sides like twin bands of steel, she could do nothing as she felt her feet lift from the ground, her lungs protesting against the constriction against her ribs.

"So you're the one who has my key," his low, melodious voice whispered against her ear, a soft breath of air fanning against her hair and tickling the delicate skin.

"I don't... I don't have your key," Buffy gasped as she struggled against the arms holding her, her eyes growing wide as she realized that she _couldn't_. It was as though she had been catapulted back an entire year and she was still under the restrictions of the drug that stole her strength when in reality it was the strength that was wrong. And only then did Buffy finally understand what Faith had been trying to tell her all along. It was only then that she truly understood what it meant to fight a God, for demons and vampires didn't stand a chance against a slayer and for a time, a slayer could almost come to believe that she was immortal. But a God? Against a God, a slayer was just another girl. Against a God, a slayer was mortal.

"No," Serantine murmured thoughtfully, her head tilted to the side as she looked past Harry's tanned shoulder and inspected Buffy as though for the first time. "You don't have our Key, do you?" she asked as a slow smile slowly lifted her full lips. "Clever monks," she murmured, feeling the boy begin to struggle against her grip as Dahm stared at his counterpart in confusion.

"What?"

"She doesn't _have_ our Key," Ser repeated, her smile widening as she locked eyes with the girl. "She _is_ our Key."

Closing her eyes, Buffy allowed her body to sag weakly in Dahm's hold, her mind whirling. The Gods were strong - too strong even for her slayer strength and Buffy knew that there would be no breaking free. And with no portkey, there was no way to escape even if she could find a way free of his iron grip. And while Harry certainly didn't need his hands free in order to use his magic, the other wizards and witches that were to be their protectors had already proven that his magic would be of no aid against them. Yet that didn't mean that Harry couldn't escape whatever fate awaited her. Opening her eyes and willing her fear and panic away, Buffy allowed her eyes to lock with Harry's. "Get out of here," she whispered, her words falling so quiet that she doubted anyone heard.

Yet no one needed to hear for all it took was one look at Buffy's lips for Harry to see what she wanted of him. She wanted him to apparate to safety. She wanted him to abandon herself to her fate to save himself. And while Harry didn't exactly have the oxygen to laugh at her absurd request, what with Serantine's choke hold and all, he thought that he got his message across well enough by the narrowing of his green eyes as he practically scowled at her. He wasn't leaving without her. He would _never_ leave without her. And as Harry's eyes locked with hers, the young wizard reached out with his magic in a way that he hadn't done since a fateful night months ago - a night that had cost them both dearly. And as Buffy's eyes widened in realization, he knew that she felt his unasked question as she closed her eyes, her features tightening in discomfort and then pain as he allowed himself to reach into the core of her slayer magic and drew upon the very stuff that gave Buffy her strength. And then, for the first time since Lord Voldemort's downfall, Harry and Buffy disappeared with a small pop of displaced air as they apparated to the one place that Harry had ever truly felt safe. Which of course left two Hell Gods extremely disappointed and very empty-handed.

Frowning, Ser allowed her hands to fall to her sides as she glared at the empty patch of beach that had been her young captive only moments before. "I thought," she murmured, her voice hard and even, "that the Council member we tortured said that shouldn't have been able to happen. That without their key thingie, she shouldn't have been able to go anywhere."

"Apparently our source wasn't completely forthcoming," Dahm sighed, his narrowed violet eyes turning to glare at his counterpart.

"So now you're doubting my methods of interrogation?" Ser quickly returned, her body practically shaking with ill-contained wrath. "I can guarantee you that the woman told us everything that she knew."

Ignoring Serantine's anger, Dahmascus merely shrugged as he turned away, his eyes tracing the path of the falling sun. "Then it would seem that she was simply misinformed and that we need someone a bit closer to the source of the problem."

**To be continued...**


	14. Chapter 14

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 14"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: I'm sorry that this took so long to get out!! I really was expecting to have it out this past weekend, but RL caught up with me in the 'hey, if you're planning on moving to a new apartment next weekend, you should really pack' kind of way. So, my apologies for the lateness and for any future delay in getting this out - life has gotten hectic! Also... anyone else excited about TTT hitting DVD today??? ;p

* * *

"So I of course pointed out to Mister Creevey that such behavior-"

Sighing absently, Remus allowed Professor Sinistra's rambling diatribe about the youngest Creevey boy to wash over his tired shoulders even as he strained to nod in all of the appropriate places. Not that the Astronomy Professor seemed to notice or care about his lack of attention. It seemed that more times than not the witch was more concerned with listening to herself speak, rather than carrying an actual conversation - not that Remus really minded. After all, it had been a long day with a double DADA class with the Slytherins and Gryffindors combined - never a good combination and something that he would truly have to speak with Dumbledore about someday. Whoever had thought it would be a good idea to place the two rival houses together in hopes of learning was far too optimistic of the age-long feud ever being solved that easily, even when the actual number of Slytherins were so minimal compared to past years. Something to do with the downfall of Voldemort, he was sure.

"-and that was before his older brother, Colin, decided to-"

Spearing a green piece of lettuce with the tongs of his fork, Remus nodded absently once more at the brief lull in her never-ending speech as he lifted his head and allowed his gray eyes to drift around the bustling Great Hall. It was the evening meal time and from the looks of it, every student was in attendance this night, the din practically drowning out Sinistra's ramblings and creating a soothing background rumble. Munching quietly on the green, he turned his graying head to the side, nodding briefly at Dumbledore as the headmaster smiled knowingly at the DADA professor before returning to his own conversation with Minerva.

"-his bloody muggle camera that never seems to-"

The Astronomy Professor's never-ending monologues were practically legendary amongst the Hogwarts staff, and Remus was quite sure that it was due to his seemingly endless patience that he was somehow, inevitably, always seated beside the older witch. Not that he could really complain, for her ranting provided the perfect opportunity for the werewolf to finally relax for the first time that day, his mind drifting to what really mattered: namely, his very best friend who was still being held under lock and key in Madam Pomfrey's infirmary, as well as the son of his other best friend, a certain Harry Potter that was even then ensconced on some tropical beach thousands of miles away, protected by the very best of the Council of Watcher's wizards and witches. They were his family, the only ones that he had left, and the sight of Sirius' healing frame, still gaunt and sickly after a week beneath Pomfrey's care, was enough to cause his own frame to bend beneath the weight of his many worries. Worries for Sirius. Worries for Harry. Worries for them all.

"-and then I... Remus, are you even listening?" Sinistra demanded, finally drawing the DADA professor's attention as a faint blush heated his cheeks.

"My apologies," he quickly murmured as he straightened in his seat, dismayed by the fact that for the first time, his inattention had been so obvious that the astronomy professor herself had noticed. "I-" he began, his words falling silent as the many candles that floated above the large room began to flicker. Confused, he found his eyes drawn to the winter swept night that was displayed on the enchanted ceiling, frowning as the candles begin to flicker even more sporadically as some change in the air itself twisted his inner wolf's enhanced senses. Startled, he quickly pushed back from his chair, his wand appearing in one hand even as the professors up and down the table did the same, the children falling quiet as a deathly silence spread throughout the entire Great Hall.

"Albus," Professor McGonagall whispered, her voice wavering slightly as she turned her small, beady eyes towards the headmaster for guidance as she swept her free hand out towards the terrified children, her question obvious.

"Minerva, I want-" the aged wizard began, only to fall silent as the flickering intensified as all eyes seemed drawn to two slender silhouettes that seemed to flicker for just a moment, right before the head table, before shifting into the unmistakable form of Harry Potter and Buffy Summers.

Startled, Remus could do nothing but stare as the silence seemed to stretch into eternity, all eyes locked on the two teens who were shivering madly and clinging weakly to one another, Harry clad only in a long pair of shorts while Buffy's skin was more exposed than not in what seemed to be nothing more than her black under things. "Harry?" he finally murmured, forcing the choked name past numb lips as the teen's wide green eyes followed the sound of his voice until he locked on his former professor's face. A flash of stark fear fading into something that resembled relief - before quickly fading into something unreadable as Buffy seemed to sag in his arms.

"Help us," Harry returned, his words a whispered plea as the color seemed to drain from his face and his knees began to buckle.

Without even thinking, Remus was vaulting over the table, dishes and cutlery crashing to the floor as he crossed the distance to Harry and Buffy in seconds - and froze as he met Snape, of all people, right beside the young couple. For a moment, he and his former nemesis merely stared at each other, the potion master's face unreadable. But then even that was forgotten as whatever strength had been keeping Harry and Buffy standing quickly fled, the two teens collapsing as pandemonium seemed to erupt around them as the students and faculty alike jumped to their feet and hurried to get a better view.

Grunting, Harry felt his eyes slip shut even as his quick descent to the hard stone floor was arrested by a pair of familiar, thin arms. Sighing tiredly, he slowly forced his tired eyes to blink open, Remus' concerned face blinking into view as his former professor supported Harry's weight. Closing his eyes once more, Harry forced his legs to hold him as Remus helped him to stand once more, trying and failing not to sag against the older man as one of his arms was draped across the werewolf's bent shoulders.

"Harry? Harry!"

Sighing, Harry forced his eyes open once more, this time being greeted by the worried faces of Hagrid and Ginny Weasley, as well as Remus, who continued to support his weight. Shaking his head slowly, Harry tried to focus past his debilitating weakness and instead turned his head wearily until his eyes locked on Buffy's small frame, cradled in Snape's arms and surrounded by Dumbledore and McGonagall.

"-to the infirmary."

"No," Harry quickly whispered, quietly at first. "No," he repeated, his voicing growing stronger as Dumbledore finally turned away from he and McGonagall's inspection of the small slayer. "Not there," Harry clarified, trying to get his mind to move faster in order to keep up with his mouth... or maybe he was really trying to get his mouth to keep up with his mind. To be honest, he wasn't quite sure as everything seemed to be very muddled at the moment. All he really wanted to do was go to sleep for at least a week if for no other reason than to allow his tired limbs to rest. Then again, Harry _hated_ being the center of attention, and with all of the worried and concerned gazes that he could just _feel_ on his tired body, he knew that sleep would have to wait. Especially if Buffy... Buffy.

Straightening a little more, Harry lifted his head to find Dumbledore still staring at him in concern, idly realizing that some time must have passed as they all awaited his explanation. Shaking his head slowly, Harry forced his trembling legs to hold him as his gaze drifted once more to the tiny blond that lay so still in his former professor's black-clad arms, her eyes closed and her breathing soft and even. "We just.. we just need a moment to get our strength back," he continued, forcing himself to concentrate on his words as he turned bright green eyes back to the old headmaster. "We had to apparate," he explained, shaking his head slowly as he glanced back towards the sleeping blonde, "and I had to use too much from us both to go that far. We just need... just need a moment."

Sighing softly through pinched lips, Professor McGonagall finished her inspection of the girl before grudgingly nodding her head in agreement. "It does seem as though she's merely sleeping," she murmured as she undid the clasp of her own outer cloak and draped it over the girl's indecently clad form, unable to prevent the small blush from staining her cheeks.

"Please," Harry pleaded, his eyes locked with Dumbledore's. "Buffy will freak if she wakes in there again."

Smiling softly at the boy's odd choice in words, evidence of the many months he had spent in the American girl's company, Dumbledore slowly nodded his head in acquiescence. "Bring them to the slayer's old chamber," he stated, his words soft as Snape nodded curtly and turned away in a swirl of billowing black robes, the mobs of curious students instantly parting before him. Inclining his head towards Dumbledore, Remus waited until Hagrid joined him at Harry's other side, the half-giant easily supporting the rest of Harry's weight as the three began to slowly follow after the potions professor. "Minerva, if you could handle this," Dumbledore added, waving towards the students who were even then beginning to whisper madly amongst themselves, Harry's name rolling off of many lips, "and then contact Mister Giles and Mister Fellows at the Council of Watchers."

"Of course, Albus," the stern witch replied promptly before turning back to the student body, working to gain order.

"And Miss Weasley," the headmaster added as he turned to the 7th year Gryffindor. "Would you please go to the Infirmary and see that Sirius knows of his godson's... arrival?" he asked, his blue eyes twinkling.

Nodding shyly, Ginny quickly turned and hurried away, leaving the headmaster free to sweep from the halls in his own magenta robes, his feet carrying him down many a little known shortcut until he was soon falling into step beside his Potions Master, his blue eyes falling gravely onto the slayer's pale features. By necessity alone, he and some of his staff were well aware of the mantle that had been placed on this small girl's shoulders. Now, not only was she cursed with the fate of a slayer, but she was also burdened with the knowledge that she had been entrusted a mystical key. No, not entrusted. She now _was_ this Key that was so desired by a pair of Hell Gods. And by Harry's love for the slayer, that also meant that the young wizard, the hope and hero of the wizarding world, was just as deeply entrenched as the slayer. Which in turn meant that they both would have the unquestionable aid of every wizard and witch who knew of their dilemma.

Groaning softly, the small slayer slowly opened her eyes, a startling green blinking at her surroundings even as she began to weakly pull against the arms that held her. "Harry?" she murmured, her confusion evident as she caught glimpses of stone walls and passages - and then full-out recoiled as she took notice of the person that was carrying her.

"Shh," Snape murmured, his voice silkily soft as his arms tightened around the small slayer, stilling her movements as the headmaster opened the portrait door before him, waving him towards an open door to his right that led into a bed chamber that sported a large canopied bed done in the soft blue of a summer day. In just a few long strides he quickly crossed the large room and then settled the girl onto the soft mattress, ensuring that McGonagall's dark robes covered the girl's tanned skin as much as possible before stepping away - only to have his efforts thwarted as the others hurried into the room, Potter practically stumbling to the bed and pulling Buffy into his arms, the cloak falling away to reveal the girl in all of her inappropriateness.

"Buffy, are you alright?" Harry quickly asked as the small slayer sagged against him, her arms wrapping loosely around his shoulders as she rest her golden blonde head against his bared chest.

"I thought you said we weren't going to do that again," she returned, smiling softly as she allowed his body heat to warm her chilled skin.

"I did," Harry agreed, returning her smile as relief blossomed within him. He knew from previous experience that drawing upon Buffy's power - upon her core - was something that was never meant to happen for a slayer, and something that drained Buffy and left her feeling far weaker than normal. He knew that, yet at the same time, he had thought it would be different this time as instead of relying completely on her, he had drawn upon his own strength as well. Yet apparently, tandem apparition just wasn't meant to happen over such long distances - a fact that he hadn't taken into effect when considering the effects it would have on the both of them. "Yet I did say that I wouldn't do it unless we were faced with another dark evil wizard that needed to be conquered - and while not wizards, I think escaping Hell Gods counts-" he began, only to have the rest of his argument forgotten as Sirius charged through the door, Ginny Weasley hot on his heels.

"Harry! What's going on?" Sirius quickly demanded as he practically shoved Snape into a wall in his haste to reach his godson, his hands frantically reaching for Harry as he cupped his chin between his hands.

Which was really just as well because even as Harry was pulled away by his godfather, Giles was already bursting into the room, Samuel Fellows hot on his heels as the watcher froze for a moment before throwing himself at his slayer. "Good Lord, Buffy! What's happened?" he cried as he settled on the bed on the other side of Buffy, Harry and Sirius, his hands pulling the small slayer into a quick, fierce hug before pushing her back, his hands locked on her small, bare shoulders as his eyes swept over her pale features.

"Giles, I'm fine," Buffy returned, smiling slightly as her watcher seemed to ignore her assurances as his speckled gaze swept over her lean form, his expression turning puzzled.

"Good Heavens, Buffy. Whatever are you wearing?" he murmured, unconsciously drawing the attention of the many people in the room and directing it towards her scantily clad frame.

"What are you _both_ wearing?" Sirius added, a small, confused frown pulling at his own lips as he took in his godson's half-clad form.

"Our swimsuits," Buffy replied for the both of them, a small blush staining her cheeks as she quickly snatched up the ends of McGonagall's black cloak and drew it up to her chin.

"Why, pray tell?" Giles persisted, smiling wryly at the blush that was staining his slayer's pale cheeks.

"Obviously, because we just finished going swimming-"

"-and have been lying on the beach ever since," Harry finished, shrugging absently even as Sirius' frown deepened.

"Beach?" he murmured, his blue eyes narrowing upon the two. "Where have you two been?" he asked, even as he shot his best friend a nasty glare. In the past week, Remus had merely told him that Harry and Buffy had gone underground with the Council's protection, always refusing to say more until he got better. And while he was still sore and aching from the Hell Gods' brutal torture, that didn't mean that his mind was in any way incapacitated. And seeing as how it was in the dead of winter in Great Britain, and everywhere else in the northern hemisphere, that could only mean that his godson had been staying in a location far, far away from the castle.

"A little island in the Caribbean," Harry returned, unwittingly confirming his godfather's line of thinking as he stretched his weary limbs. "Which is apparently a pretty long way to apparate from," he added with a wry smile at Buffy, even as she frowned at her boyfriend.

"Apparently," she agreed dryly before turning back to her watcher. "We just had the distinct pleasure of meeting a certain pair of Hell Gods," she announced as she waved her hand absently before allowing it to flop back into her lap.

"And the watchers that were with you?" Samuel murmured, fearing that he already knew the answer as Buffy turned sad eyes towards him. For a moment, she seemed to only be able to meet his heavy gaze before she slowly shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, leaning against her watcher as the older man draped an arm around her and held her against his side. "There was nothing we could do," she added before sighing heavily, leaning her head against Giles' shoulder. "And now they know that I'm the Key and they're looking for me," she finished as she closed her eyes and relaxed against her watcher, a thick silence falling upon the room.

"So what do we do now?" Sirius asked, breaking the terrible silence before it could smother them all. "Can't they just stay here-"

"No," Buffy quickly interrupted, her voice vehement as she straightened, her eyes practically flashing. "I'm not putting anyone else in danger because of me."

"Besides," Harry added as he dropped a light, comforting hand on Buffy's bare shoulder, "not even Hogwarts is safe." Sighing, he turned and nodded apologetically at Dumbledore, who had been so silent since entering the room. "The watchers were all trained wizards and they barely even slowed them down. Magic won't win this fight."

"We need to go somewhere where no one knows where we are," Buffy continued as she shot her watcher a worried glance. "We just endanger everyone by-"

"You're not disappearing again," Giles cut in, his voice flat and unwavering as Sirius vehemently nodded his agreement, Harry meanwhile breaking into his own arguments with his godfather.

"Giles-"

"You're not, and that's final," the watcher countered, his green eyes turning hard as he glared at his slayer. "I will not have-"

"The monks were right," Buffy interrupted, the cloak forgotten as her arms crossed stubbornly across her chest. "We need to go underground in a place where no one knows of our location."

"And I say-"

Clearing his throat loudly, Dumbledore stopped the arguments before they could escalate as he gently rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, waiting patiently for all eyes to turn towards him. "It sounds to me," he began, a small, serene smile lifting his lips and pulling at the corners of his long beard, "that what you need is a secret keeper."

"Brilliant," Sirius quickly declared, a large smile lifting his lips. "We'll send you off someplace like we did Harry's parents, and this time, I'll be the keeper and-"

"No you won't," Remus quickly cut in, his features tight as he hesitantly stepped forward, stopping his best friend before he could get fully carried away. "If I might remind you, you shouldn't even be out of the infirmary right now. Padfoot, you almost died a week ago and you're not strong enough to work the magic-"

"Moony, if you don't stop-"

"Remus is right," Giles cut in, his gaze softening as he noticed Sirius' sickly pallor and the dark bruises that were still visible on his gaunt cheeks. "You're not well," he began, only to lift a hand to forestall the man's arguments before they could start. "Which is why _I'll_ be the secret keeper."

Scowling, it looked as though Sirius was about to protest further when Harry silenced his godfather with a small hand on the older man's arm. "Sirius, it's alright," he stated, his voice quiet as his godfather reluctantly turned, his tired blue eyes staring worriedly at his godson. "You've already done your part, and besides," he added, a wry grin lifting his lips as he jerked a thumb back to where the watcher was absently stroking Buffy's hair as she leaned heavily against him, the small slayer obviously struggling to remain awake. "Do you really think that Giles would ever give up our location knowing what it would mean? That he'd ever break?"

Sighing softly, Sirius slowly shook his head as he shrugged out of his own outer cloak and wrapped it around his godson's bare shoulders. It didn't matter that Harry was now eighteen and a man in his own right. In Sirius' eyes, he would always be the skinny, scared thirteen year old that had granted mercy to the man that had killed his parents - and that had stepped out on a limb and given trust to a stranger, the man he had spent the past few months believing that had played a part in their murders. "No, I don't suppose he would," he agreed as he pulled his godson against him, smiling contentedly as Harry leaned tiredly against his lean frame. 

And for a moment, a blissful silence fell upon the large bed chamber - a silence that was of course broken by a sleepy yawn and an even sleepier question as Buffy cautiously opened one green eye. "So what's this secret thing?"

* * *

With a small clink of shifting ice, the amber liquid sloshed over the small cubes and crept towards the lip of the tumbler before running over the top and down the side of the cool glass. Ignorant of the mess, a shaking hand dropped the heavy bottle and then seized the tumbler with the other, eyes narrowing as the glass was brought to thin lips and as the cool liquid burned a fiery trail down before settling in a stomach that was already protesting from too many days of similar abuse. Not that it mattered. For no matter how much of the expensive, imported whiskey that Monsieur Robert Bertrone poured down his miserable throat, the promised relief was never more than a fleeting hope that soon left him feeling more drained then before.

Two weeks. Two long and unbelievably hellish weeks had passed since his petite Celeste, his slayer, had selflessly given herself for her duty. A selfless act that went so horribly wrong. It had been two weeks since his slayer had fallen, two weeks since she was destroyed in the most cruel way possible, two weeks since the part that was irrevocably Celeste had been stolen from her... and two weeks that he knew his slayer continued to live on, imprisoned in a body that offered no escape from the hell. He had tried to save his slayer that night, abandoning every rule ever laid before him as he abandoned his cozy seat by the sidelines and rushed forward - only to arrive too late. And then, when no one else had been brave enough to set his Celeste free - when no one else had loved Celeste enough to see her suffering end... he had tried to give her that final gift. To give her that final release. And he had been denied.

Hand clenching at his side, Bertrone angrily knocked back another tumbler of whiskey, feeling the alcohol burn down his throat and not caring. The other slayer, the _putain_ that called herself Faith, had stopped him before he could finish his gift. The doctors and their damn American beliefs celebrated as they brought his Celeste back, returning her to her prison as they praised their mighty gifts - gifts that rivaled a God. A God... it had been a God that had taken away his Celeste, and another God that had returned her to her hell.

Bertrone had awoken later that night to find himself surrounded by his fellow watchers, their faces pitying and compassionate. Fellows had been there, a fool of a man that had commiserated with Bertrone's loss and had had the nerve to absolve him for his attempted sin. He said that he understood how grief could lead to a temporary sort of madness, and that all was well. Celeste still lived. As if that made anything well. Only then had Fellows seen his anger, his grief at what had been allowed to happen... and he hadn't understood. Instead, Fellows had sent him back to his ancestral home in France with idle promises that the Council would now see to Celeste's needs. They would see to his young Slayer for the rest of her days, and when Bertrone returned to his senses, he would be reunited with his slayer.

His slayer.

Apparently what Fellows refused to understand was that his slayer was dead and all that remained was a shell of the girl that had lived so brightly beneath his wing. The girl that had been tall and beautifully graceful, strong and swift, deadly and kind, but most of all - the girl that had possessed a mind far keener than people three times her young age. No, his slayer was dead to him, her essence stolen from her in a way that left a mockery of the vibrant girl in her place. No, she was dead, and all thanks to the two Hell Gods that... were standing right behind him.

"Have you come to finish what you have started? To reunite me with my Celeste?" he murmured, his voice remarkably clear and strong even as his shaking hands poured yet another tumbler of the strong whiskey, his cold gray eyes meeting their own in the mirror before him.

"All of that effort to find you... merely to kill you?" Dahmascus asked, laughing softly as he settled into an antique chintz chair, his eyes absently skipping over the many fine things that littered the small study. "I think not."

"We were actually looking for your assistance," Serantine continued as she settled elegantly on a sturdy settee, her long pale legs stretching out beside her lean form as she ran a hand through her thick masses of curly red hair.

Snorting softly, Bertrone finally turned away from his dark-paneled mantle, the small, sticky tumbler clutched in one hand with the cool amber liquid sloshing unnoticed over the top and splashing against the top of his dark shoes. "Then apparently you have wasted your time and effort," he stated, his voice cool as he raised his glass in a mock toast. "For as someone should have mentioned, I have been suspended from the Council. I cannot be of help to you," he added before curtly downing his drink, a small grimace twisting his features even as he turned back to refresh his glass.

"Then perhaps we can help each other," Serantine suggested with a small, enchanting smile.

Snorting once more, Bertrone shook his head wryly even as he poured himself another drink. "Madame, I have been a watcher for over thirty years," he stated, his voice clipped and frosty as he turned and leveled a glare at the two gods. "My father was a watcher, and my father's father was a watcher. Despite my current relations with the Council, I would never betray everything that I have ever believed in for any reason."

"Even for your Slayer?" Dahmascus asked, freezing the French watcher in the act of raising his glass to his lips as the man turned narrowed eyes towards him. "It's really quite simple," he continued, waving his hand absently before him. "We don't belong here. We belong in our world and all we wish to do is return home."

"Time is running short," Serantine added, "and all we need to get home is the Key."

"You mean Miss Summers," Bertrone clarified, his expression unwavering.

"Whatever," she sighed, waving away his words as she sent Dahm an exasperated expression. "The point is, if we don't use the Key to get home at the time of the alignment, we're stuck on this little planet of yours for another five hundred years."

"You can't kill us," Dahm added indifferently as he inspected his short nails, his tone almost bored. "No one can and we will continue to survive on the essence of your kind. You know," he murmured, his eyes lifting as a small smile twisted his lips, "those like your Slayer. Celeste, wasn't it?"

Eyes narrowing, Bertrone felt his anger build as he took a threatening step towards the smug God. "And what will happen when the portal opens?" he asked, his voice icy.

"When the portal opens, the doors to all realms will be open and hell will be unleashed upon your world," Ser replied, almost casually. "But only until the portal is closed. Besides, isn't that what you guys are for? Fighting evil?" she persisted, her smile widening. "We just need the portal open long enough to return to our home and then you will be rid of us and we will be rid of you. Forever."

"A few minutes of Hell on Earth in return for salvation," Dahm added as he spread his hands before him. "Is this decision really that difficult?"

Stunned by the knowledge the Hell Gods were so willingly providing, Bertrone found himself weakly settling into a worn armchair without even realizing that he had moved from the mantle. So much information - information that they had been searching for, for so long. If the others could only know - if he could only get the information to Giles or... "But the Key is a part of the Slayer now," he murmured, his distracted thoughts finding focus as he slowly raised his head, gray eyes meeting violet. "How do you plan on extracting the key?"

"You let us worry about that once we get our Key," Dahm returned, waving his hand absently before him.

"And the Slayer?"

"What's the life of one Slayer when you'd be saving the lives of countless others like your Celeste?" Ser quickly returned as her slow smile began to build until it was almost blinding - blinding and seductive. "Or Celeste herself?" she murmured, watching as the man froze in his seat. "We can give back what we took from her," she continued, smiling slyly.

"Think of it," Dahmascus added, leaning forward slightly in his chair. "An even trade: a slayer for a slayer."

Mind whirling, Bertrone quickly settled back in his chair, his hands hanging limply at his sides. To regain his slayer... but at what cost? Betraying everything that he had ever stood for? But for what? For the protection of a slayer that he barely knew? One that had already lived and fought for over five years - far longer than the average slayer. The girl would die, sooner or later - such a thing was inevitable. But could he really betray her to the gods that had stolen his Celeste in the first place? Yet at the same time, he now knew what the others didn't. Truly, wasn't it the better choice to simply give the Gods what they wanted and send them on their way? A few minutes of Hell on Earth for the cost of one slayer - and in return they would rid their world of two unstoppable demons that would have ruined the lives of thousands of others over the course of the next five hundred years when they would simply try again - if they could _even_ try again. After all, what would happen to the Key when Buffy finally did follow the fate of her predecessors and succumbed to the nature of all slayers? Would the Key die with her, cursing their world to an eternity with the hell gods, or move on in another form? Which was the worse Evil?

Stumbling to his feet, Bertrone hastily made his way back to the mantle, his hands shaking as he poured himself another drink. What would his father have done? Would he have turned his back on the Council? Aligned himself with the Evil that he fought? Betrayed a Slayer and everything he held dear in the hopes that the ends justified the means? Could he really do such a thing? Shaking his head, Bertrone quickly lifted the tumbler to his lips - and then froze as his eyes fell on a silver, gilded frame that rest so innocently beside the nearly empty bottle of whiskey.

"Celeste," he whispered, his tumbler forgotten as his hands lifted the cool frame and cradled it in his hands, his eyes lovingly tracing over the young, smiling face that beamed back at him. In the end, the answer was so simple. It didn't matter what his father, or even his grandfather would do. It didn't matter what anyone would do. All that mattered was the innocent face that smiled up at him from the simple photograph. Once, not that long ago, Bertrone had come to the realization that he would die for his Slayer. In turn, it seemed that he would betray Heaven itself if it meant getting her back. "A slayer for a slayer," he murmured, his eyes never leaving the photograph, and thus never seeing the slow smiles that lifted the faces of the Gods that had destroyed her.

**To be continued...**


	15. Chapter 15

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 15"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings. Also, a small bit of dialogue was taken from the Season 5 episode, "Tough Love." I'm sure you'll be able to figure out which.

Author's Note: And now we see the truly wonderful results of my time with EA (Evil Anonymous). I hope that you enjoy the fruits of my time in my weekly meetings just as much as I have. I'd like to thank my sponsor who is... well, unavailable to chat at the moment. I promise, someone should stumble across his body in the next few weeks - that's what hikers are for, right? Always somehow stumbling across the one body hidden in a forest that is thousands of acres large? And thanks for everyone who had faith that I could make it through the intensive program. And of course, the most credit must go to Jezowen for enrolling me in EA. Jezowen, my name is Lisette and I am irrevocably Evil. This one's for you. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! (Look, I've even perfected my Evil Laugh! ;p)

* * *

"Morning, Xander."

Freezing with his foot on the bottom step of the staircase, Xander rubbed at his bleary eyes and frowned at Faith's overly perky smirk from her perch on the kitchen counter. "Is it really?" he muttered as he continued into the kitchen, instantly going for the coffee pot even as he took in the darkness that was hidden behind the windows.

"4am," the dark-haired slayer confirmed with a nod towards the microwave. "In most states, the 'am' stands for morning - or so Red keeps telling me," she added as she sipped at the mug that she was cradling in her hands.

Rolling his eyes at her words, Xander smothered another yawn even as he leaned against the counter opposite her, his arms crossed over his chest as he finally took in the slaying Scooby. "And judging by the clothes, I take it you're just getting in," he commented as he grinned at the overly tight jeans and the long-sleeve shirt that still somehow managed to show plenty of curves, despite the fact that no skin was showing. "And why is it that I'm the only one who doesn't get a nickname?" he asked before the slayer had a chance to respond. Scowling slightly, he quickly shook his head. "Buffy gets to be B, Willow is Red, Tara is Glenda, Celeste is.... was, Kid," he murmured, his scowl faltering as he fully realized what he had just allowed to slip past. Grimacing, he quickly turned his eyes from the pain that flashed in Faith's eyes as he scrutinized his short fingernails. "Uh... what does a Xander get?"

"Would you prefer Zeppo to Xander?" Faith quipped, forcing the joke to continue as though the slip hadn't been made, arching a fine brow at the dark-haired teen before quickly shaking her head - and all the while ignoring the thoughts that were crashing in her head. The thoughts of Celeste - of the Kid that they had lost only a few short weeks ago. The Slayer that had been cruelly taken from them before she had even reached her yearly anniversary. In the end, perhaps Celeste had taken Buffy's slayer initiation bit a little too close to heart and had tried to outdo the blonde slayer. While they had laughed and prodded at the idea of getting as close to death as possible - of trying to call the next slayer while living to tell about it... they hadn't meant for it to come true. They hadn't meant for it to take one of their own away when she had only just begun to live. And live she had.

Ever since Christmas Celeste had branched out and was slowly coming into her own. Gone was the meek girl that had first come to them, yet in her place they didn't find the expected copy of Buffy nor Faith. Instead, Celeste had somehow managed to find her own slayer self - one that was an impressive fighter, yet a slayer that was far more passionate about the knowledge and research that went along with the gig. The Kid had been good with the books and amazing with the knowledge. She had been smart and now... and now she was gone, taken away to be given the special care and attention that she would now forevermore need. And all because Faith had arrived too late.

Sighing, Faith forced the dark thoughts from her mind as she once more turned back to her friend, Xander's dark eyes narrowed in concern. "And now I see what happens to a mind on too little sleep," she added, forcing a dry chuckle as she slid from the counter and moved to put her mug in the sink. "Why are you up this early, anyway?" she asked, taking the time to rinse her mug so that she could avoid Tara's scolding later in the day.

"Work," Xander sighed, allowing the conversation to change as he picked at his rumpled tee-shirt and flannel pants, idly doing the math to see how much longer he could afford to lounge with his necessary morning coffee before running late. "My boss is supposed to be coming by the site later today and I want to make sure that everything is in order."

Frowning, Faith slowly shook her head as she eyed the tall young man with evident confusion. "That sounds almost... responsible," she admitted before placing her palm against his forehead, only to dance away as he scowled and made a half-hearted swipe at her. "Whatever happened to the Xander Harris of ill-timed jokes and no ambition?"

"He got a job," Xander quipped with a wry grin as he turned away from the slayer and shuffled towards the coffee pot. "Couldn't live in my parents' basement forever."

"If only we could be so lucky," Faith returned, snorting softly as she turned and made her way towards the wide stairs.

"Hey, I re-" Xander began, his words drowned out by a crash of splintering wood that shook the frame of the house itself.

Turning on her heel, Faith started back into the kitchen, only to freeze as her eyes locked with the violet-tinged eyes of a Hell God. "Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" she snarled, white-hot rage flooding through her veins as she stalked back into the kitchen, noting with satisfaction that Xander was already pulling open a bottom cupboard and slowly reaching for the crossbow that she knew was stashed inside. "Ooh, you've so got something coming for that. That was an expensive door!"

"Faith," Dahmascus greeted, a slow smile lifting his lips as he stepped through the splintered backdoor, completely ignoring her angry tirade as the two came to a stop, toes lining up against each other as she narrowed her eyes up at him. "I've come looking for my Key," he stated, his lips lifting into a slow, sensuous smile.

"Try a locksmith," the slayer quickly retorted as she took a slow, measured step back just as Xander lifted his crossbow and released the bolt that had been prepped, the wood whistling through the air and lodging itself in the god's chest.

Grunting, Dahmascus allowed the momentum of the bolt to carry him back a few paces before he quickly stilled his feet. Frowning, he glared down at the offending object before pulling it free, a soft, wet sucking noise following the projectile and allowing the smallest trickle of blood to drip free before the wound sealed itself, the damage repaired. Practically snarling, he then lifted the bolt and watched as his dark blood dripped down the smooth wood - and then turned so fast that the slayer had no chance to move or shout warning as he released the bolt in the direction it had come, the wood whistling through the air and piercing through flesh and bone as it carried the tall, dark-haired young man back across the kitchen and pinned him to the wall beyond.

As Xander cried out in agony, Faith felt the smile fall from her face as she took in the blood that was soaking the shoulder of Xander's tee-shirt, his face deadly pale as his good hand vainly tried to pull at the piece of wood. "You sick son of a-" she began, her words drowned out by the frantic pounding of feet down the stairs behind her. Turning, she had time to see Willow and Tara's pale faces, their wide, panicked eyes locked on Dahmascus before Xander cried out again.

"Xander!" Willow screeched, her feet already moving towards her best friend even as Tara began to pull her back towards the stairs.

"Get out of here!" Faith screamed, watching as the taller witch pulled her struggling girlfriend back the way they had come. But her moment of inattention cost her as Dahmascus crossed the distance between them and bodily lifted her in the air. Grunting, Faith had a moment to take in a panicked breath of air before she was launched over the counter, crashing into the cupboards beyond and barely missing the scalding contents of the coffee pot as it came crashing beside her. Wincing, Faith slowly stumbled to her feet, one hand seizing the handle of the shattered pot as she launched herself forward, sliding across the bar as her foot kicked out, catching the God across the face even as her hand swept forward, the sharp fragments of the broken glass digging into his abdomen. Yet even as she felt his hot blood spray her face, she knew that the fight wasn't over. It wouldn't be over until she was dead.

Gasping, Faith quickly rolled on her back and then flipped forward until she was standing on the breakfast bar, her form towering over Dahm's as she leapt and twisted mid-air over his dark head before landing behind him. Grunting, she quickly reached forward and wrapped her hands around his neck, tightening her hold and attempting to twist his head to the side - only to find his hands reaching behind him, seizing her shoulders and bodily lifting her above his head and tossing her across the room as though she weighed no more than a small child, her body crashing against the uneven steps and causing darkness to creep at her vision. Yet with Xander's agonized whimpers and the sound of the god's slow approach, Faith couldn't help but note that this darkness was tinged with red.

Wincing, Faith forced herself to her feet as she half-crawled, half-staggered up the long flight of stairs, trying her best not to slip on her own trail of blood as the stairs opened up into a wide landing that curved around the stair's banister and ended in a large, picture window that looked down on the cement back step below. Grimacing, the dark-haired slayer spit out a mouthful of blood as she pulled herself up and along the banner, her slow, jerky movements carrying her towards her bedroom and the weapons that lay within Not that she had ever stood a chance of making it that far.

Within seconds of clearing the stairs behind her, Dahmascus curled his long fingers in the girl's dark hair, pulling her back against him as she gasped painfully, her hands turning into claws that scratched at his face as she twisted in his grip. "You know," he murmured, his voice thoughtful as he twisted the girl's head to the side. "I don't really think that you are hiding my Key, after all. I'd imagine that you're much smarter than to hide her on the Hellmouth," he added as the girl silenced her pain and instead wrapped her hands around his own and used her own strength to pull her body up and forward, rolling until her knees were resting on each shoulder with her head bent forward before her, his hands still locked in the thick masses of her hair.

"No, we aren't," a woman's voice called out before a wave of magic slapped against him, causing him to stumble back and against the wall as the slayer tumbled free of his hold and crashed to the floor.

Eyes narrowing, Dahmascus finally took notice of the two witches that stood before the large, bay window, their hands linked and their eyes locked on his form. "Decided to join the fun, have you?" he asked, moving forward even as the girl's began to murmur their soft spells, the winds of their magic buffeting against his form but hindering him little. Panicked, the girls began backing away until the redhead was pressed against the glass, her taller companion against the wall beside her - which was of course when the Slayer picked her bleeding body from the floor and tried to step between them. Grinning as inspiration struck, Dahm lifted the curvy slayer above his head and threw her across the landing, laughing as the girl's body crashed into the witches with enough force to send the redhead and the slayer back and into the dark night while the other witch fell to the floor, her lips moving faster than ever as her eyes slid shut, her fair features tightened.

"I'm going to miss your world," the God smiled, slowly cracking the knuckles of one hand as he began to move towards the remaining witch, pausing only when he took notice of the silver lighter that was lying forgotten on the plush carpet at his feet. Curious, he slowly bent down and flicked the lid back on the lighter, the bright fire dancing before his violet eyes as a new smile spread his lips. Nodding slowly, he straightened as his eyes fell once more upon the muttering witch, oblivious to the world around her. "I really will miss this," he repeated as he slowly released his hold on the burning lighter, watching it fall to the ground and sputter for a moment before taking hold of the carpeting beneath.

Humming, he absently made his way down the stairs as the fire spread through the upstairs hall. In the kitchen below, he flashed a bright grin at the pale-faced, unmoving young man that was pinioned so effectively to the wall, the acrid stench of burning material following his lean form as he crunched through the shattered debris. And outside, with the sound of wailing sirens on the wind and the scent of the ocean swelling around him, he smiled thinly as he stepped down the cement walk and over the prone and broken form of the dark-haired slayer, a halo of red spread beneath her head. Pausing to look back at the burning house, he idly wondered about the fate of the red-haired witch that had followed her companion into the dark night - but after a moment's contemplation, he decided that he didn't really care.

While Bertrone hadn't been able to tell them the location of their Key, he had given them the means to locate it: through the ones that Buffy Summers and her companion, a young wizard by the name of Harry Potter, loved most. And while he was quite sure that Bertrone hadn't been referring to these particular methods, Dahmascus was finding that they served his purpose just fine.

* * *

With a gentle push, the double doors opened wide before her on well-oiled hinges, revealing the impressive lobby of the old hotel. Nodding appreciatively at the well-maintained beauty, she slowly stepped into the polished entrance, the thin heels of her shoes tapping on the floor and causing the dark-haired young woman who sat behind the large desk to look up in surprise. Smiling, Serantine began towards her, pausing when the phone rang and the young woman lifted a slender finger before her as she quickly snatched up the handset.

"Angel Investigations, we help the hopeless," Cordelia chirped, her eyes straying from the beautiful red-haired woman before her as she quickly shoved aside a couple of ancient texts to reveal the notepad beneath. "Yes ma'am, you heard correct. We do indeed deal with all kind of demons... no, ma'am, that most likely doesn't include your neighbor's cat," she sighed, rolling her eyes and turning to see the woman waiting, a patient smile on her full lips. Forcing her own smile, Cordelia nodded at the woman before suddenly straightening. "Your neighbor's cat has horns?" she asked, her smile becoming more genuine as she began to jot down the information the woman was throwing at her.

Patience running thin, Serantine stepped forward on light feet and absently tapped the young woman on the shoulder. "Miss?"

"Hold on a sec," Cordelia sighed into the phone before flashing the woman her most sincere-fake smile before turning and bellowing over her shoulder. "Wesley! Could you please get your-"

"Good Lord, Cordelia," Wesley muttered as he hurried through the office door, his glasses perched on the brim of his nose. "What on Earth are you bellowing about this-"

"Help her. I'm busy," Cordelia returned as she jerked a thumb at the woman before quickly turning back to her conversation.

Sighing, Wesley threw his hands in the air as he turned in the indicated direction - and then froze as his eyes fell upon the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. For a moment, he could only stare in awed wonder as his eyes drank in her tall, slender frame, the simple, thin summer dress that seemed so out of place even in the chilly California winter and that hugged her curves, parting just above her neck to reveal creamy white skin, and the fiery red hair that cascaded over narrow shoulders and framed a face that featured large, gray eyes, a perfectly sculpted nose, and the most full and luscious lips he had ever seen. "Uh... hello," he murmured, finding his voice as he quickly moved around the desk until he was standing before her. "Please - please excuse Cordelia. She doesn't like... well, anyone," he said, shrugging his shoulders lightly as he reached out his hand and clasped her delicate digits within his own. Blushing fiercely as he realized that he was holding her hand for far longer than was appropriate, he hastily dropped her hand and quickly stumbled on. "May-may I help you?"

"I'm hoping so," Serantine replied, a small smile lifting her lips. "You see, I'm looking for my Key."

"I beg your pardon?" Wesley returned, the stupid grin never quite leaving his face.

"My Key," Serantine returned, her smile growing as the color slowly drained from the man's face. "I'm sure you know her," she continued as the smile flickered as fear widened his brown eyes. "She's about this high, blond hair, green eyes, sassy mouth," she added as she held her hand at about chest level, her smile growing as the man slowly began to back away.

"C-C-C-Cordelia," Wesley stammered, his hands unconsciously reaching for a weapon that he didn't have. "Cordelia," he whispered again, this time with more force as the former cheerleader continued to babble into the phone. "_Cordelia!_" he hissed again, finally gaining the girl's attention as she turned to him with exasperation.

"What, what, what already?!" Cordelia snapped, her eyes narrowing on Wesley - and frowning as she noticed the way the ex-watcher seemed to be trembling, his eyes locked on the customer in horror. "Wesley?" she asked as she slowly stood, her hand unconsciously reaching for the sword that was propped against the chair beside her.

"Get Angel," he murmured, his voice cracking as Serantine took a slow step towards him.

"But-"

"Tell him that Serantine is here," he cut in as he turned to stumble away, only to have the hell goddess on him before he had a chance to take more than four steps towards safety.

"_Angel!!_" Cordelia screamed as the goddess seized Wesley by the neck and hoisted him from the floor. Seizing the sword, the tall girl quickly scurried around the desk and charged at the goddess, the steel tip sliding through the woman's side and arching out her back - and freezing as the goddess merely flinched before turning narrowed gray eyes towards her. "An-" she began, her terrified scream cut short by the hand that suddenly rocked against the base of her sternum, snapping bone and sending her flying across the width of the large lobby where the small of her back collided with the corner of a table, the sickening sound of cracking bone echoing in the large lobby even as she collapsed in a boneless heap on the floor.

"Cordy!" Angel roared, having gained the top of the stairs just in time to see the younger woman go flying. Growling, he felt his game face shift forward as he practically dove down the stairs, his feet pounding on the carpeted steps even as he watched the innocent-looking woman pull a long sword from her side and drive the tip towards Wesley's exposed abdomen - only to have her intended blow waylaid as Gunn tackled them both, the sword slicing through Wesley's side and glancing off of his ribs instead of rendering his heart in two. Instantly the smell of Wesley's spilt blood caused Angel's demon to war within him, his eyes irrevocably drawn towards the thick red puddle that was forming beneath his friend's prone form.

Growling softly, Angel felt torn as his eyes drifted between Cordy's still form, her lashes slowly fluttering even as a pained moan left her pale lips, and Wesley, the ex-watcher lying in a growing pool of his own blood, his face pale as his hand clutched convulsively at the open wound that spilled his life's essence on the polished floor. But then, even that decision was stolen from him as Gunn cried out, the young man having reclaimed his feet only to be rocked back against the desk. Eying his groaning body with evident disdain, the goddess slowly stood, seemingly oblivious to the blood that stained her dress as she toyed with the large tear that showed her unmarked skin beneath.

Unmarked skin. As in this woman had just brutalized his staff - no, his _friends - _and she didn't even have a scratch to show for the pain that she had inflicted. The thought went beyond injustice and it caused Angel to mentally take a step back as he allowed his demon out to play. Growling furiously, Angel launched himself at the woman, catching her unaware as his fingers hooked like claws into the unbelievable softness of her skin before turning and hurling her across the room. Bending low, he quickly claimed the sword that was stained with Wesley's blood as he turned back towards the goddess - and froze as he found her standing immediately before him, a small smile pulling at her lips before she backhanded him so viciously that he was propelled backwards, landing in a heap beside Gunn.

"Man, this don't look good," the young man muttered as he weakly tried to stagger to his feet, his hands wrapped around his waist where he was sure there were more broken ribs than not.

"Stay down," Angel returned, his hand pushing on Gunn's shoulder and forcing him back to the floor even as his eyes drifted to the goddess who was bending to claim the sword he had dropped.

"But Cordy and Wes-"

"Are better off where they're at for now," Angel countered grimly, his eyes skipping over to his two friends and wincing when he saw that both seemed to be awake, and while Wesley's body trembled in pain, Cordelia didn't seem capable of moving at all. "Just stay out of this," he repeated before forcing himself to his feet, all the while consoling himself that the aches and pains that his undead body suffered from would be gone by morning. His body could handle going against a Hell Goddess, but his friends? They were far too mortal for his liking. Far, far, far too mortal.

Striding forward, Angel moved to meet the goddess, slowly circling her and then backing away as she seemed to draw closer to Wesley's prone form. "Why are you here?" he demanded, his voice low and even as he tried to distract the goddess from his friend, her gray eyes lifting to dispassionately take in his glowing eyes and extended brow ridge.

"I'm looking for my Key," she returned, her melodious voice dismissing him even as she turned to survey her work. "However your staff has been less than helpful."

"There was no _need_ for this," Angel ground out, feeling as though his heart was about to be torn in two as he followed her gaze to the broken and bleeding bodies of his friends. "They don't know anything. _I_ don't know anything. Buffy isn't here," he whispered, praying that she would believe him - but it was her casual dismissal of his words that struck him more than anything else.

"I figured as much," she sighed as she casually knelt beside Wesley's prone form, her long nails lovingly trailing over his pale cheeks even as the ex-watcher tried to shy away from her touch.

"Get away from him," Angel growled as he slowly stepped forward, his eyes burning with an unholy light.

Shrugging lightly, Serantine did as asked as she slowly straightened, one hand clutching the sword as she moved towards the ensouled vampire. "It matters not," she murmured as she waved towards Wesley's form. "I have spent too many centuries in this world, as have you, and I know that we can both recognize the fact that your friend is losing blood far too quickly. I would only be offering him a more merciful death while you would prefer that he bleed to death."

"He's not going to die," Angel returned, his voice hard as he slowly backed away and angled towards the weapons that were stashed in a cabinet along the wall.

"Well someone will die this night," the goddess continued, her eyes narrowing upon the immortal vampire. "And we all know that it isn't going to be me," she added as Angel seized a sword and then launched forward, the metal singing as it cut through air and sliced towards her - only to pass through the place where she had been standing but moments before. Confused, Angel had the slightest of moments to ponder how his sight, so much better than that of his friends, could have missed her movements when the steel of another blade ripped through his back mere inches from his unbeating back and exited through the front of his chest. Gasping, Angel looked down at the bloody metal in confusion even as a wave of agony sent him crashing to his knees. And then, just as quickly, the sword was twisted to the side, ripping cold flesh and tearing muscles before being pulled back through its bloody hole. Swaying, Angel felt his strength leave him as Serantine suddenly appeared before him, kneeling opposite of him with her gray eyes burning into his, her face an unreadable mask.

"Angel," she whispered, his name rolling from her full lips as she gently lifted a hand to caress his cool face, seemingly unconcerned with the blood that began to pool beneath him. "The vampire with a soul.... I wonder, will your soul weep for your failure tonight?" she asked, tilting her head slowly to the side. "Will it weep for your friends who lay broken around you? Will it weep for the Slayer who has become the Key that I desire? For tonight... tonight you failed your friends and you failed her. Tonight you failed," she whispered, her eyes never straying from Angel's brown, pain-hazed gaze. "A vampire with a soul - such a paradox. But I wonder... perhaps I can save you from your misery. Perhaps I can set you free," she murmured as her other hand reached up so that she was cupping each side of Angel's face. Slowly, her hands tensed, her eyes narrowing - before she slowly shook her head.

"No, not here," she whispered thoughtfully to herself as she slowly allowed her hands to slip down his cool skin until they were resting above the bloody mess that had become his chest. "Here," she murmured, her eyes flashing as a bright light seemed to encompass her pale hands as they slowly sunk into Angel's chest, his mouth falling open in a silent scream of agony even as his eyes flashed a horrible yellow light - before he fell back to the floor, his chest heaving and his eyes locked upon hers.

Smiling sweetly, Serantine slowly reclaimed her feet and turned silently, making her way to the large doors to the Hyperion Hotel. "I'll tell the Slayer you send her love," she called out, smiling softly before disappearing once more into the dark night and allowing a thick silence to fall in her wake.

Grimacing, Gunn slowly stumbled to his feet, his staggered steps tentatively taking him to Wesley's side even as he looked to where Angel seemed to be kneeling in a daze of some sort. "Hey Angel, man, you alright?" he asked, even as he pressed his hands tightly over the long, blood-soaked gash, Wesley crying out in pain at the movement. "Oh man, this is bad," he whispered, as he quickly turned his attention back to the vampire that was only slowly regaining his feet. "Angel, you alright?! Go check on Cordelia!"

For a moment more, the vampire didn't answer as he gently fingered the sword wound that continued to bleed down the front of his shirt, his eyes seemingly confused - until he lifted one blood stained finger and slowly licked the red liquid from its tip. Sighing, a look of blissful contentment slid over his twisted features as his game face once more slid into place.

"Angel?" Gunn repeated, something cold trickling down his spine as his employer slowly turned glowing yellow eyes towards his friend.

"Angel's gone," the vampire returned, a cold, chilling smile lifting his lips. "Daddy's home."

* * *

Sighing absently, Janet slowly flicked the steel file over her pointed nails as she shaped the glittering edge to an even curve. The hour was early, only 7:30 in the morning, but already the morning rush was over as the faithful Centre employees drifted through the massive front doors, their gazes already distracted by whatever projects awaited their attention. Not even ten minutes had passed since Miss Parker and Jarod himself passed through, the Pretender happily munching on a large, sticky donut while waving a cheerful hello as Miss Parker sipped at a tall, steaming mug of whatever coffee tickled her tastes that morning. Thus, with the heads of the Centre safely past and the vicinity cleared, Janet finally had time to do the really important stuff - such as fixing the nail that she had snagged on her plain, black suit earlier that morning.

Suddenly, a shrill beep interrupted her work, causing her hand to move a little too forcefully with the file, easily shaving off the delicate tip she had been slaving over. Practically growling at the ruined nail, she quickly turned in her swivel seat and fixed a fierce glare at the black and white monitor that was perched on the edge of her immense desk. Frowning, she watched as the tall, slender woman and her equally tall and slender companion shifted impatiently before the massive doors to the Centre, their faces tilted quizzically towards the camera and revealing fine angles and lines that spoke of magazine covers and Blockbuster hits. Not that she particularly cared. After all, she was far too old to give more than a passing glare to the young people that seemed to dominate today's media, dressed in all sorts of revealing clothing and most likely concealing all sorts of nasty weapons. Even her own employer, a respected head of the entire organization, seemed to share in this almost obscene obsession with prostitution and violence. Not that she'd ever mention that to Miss Parker _or_ Jarod.

"May I help you?" she asked as she flicked on the intercom, her voice its usual frosty pitch as she rolled her eyes away from the screen and began to try and fix the damage their inconsiderate interruption had inflicted.

"Perhaps," the woman's soft, clear voice replied, filtering through the small speakers that accompanied the sharp monitor. "We're looking for our key."

Pausing in her work long enough to scoff at the monitor, Janet curtly shook her head. "Listen lady, this is a private organization, not a Lost and Found," she stated dryly as she went back to work on her now much shorter fingernail.

"We were told you might be in possession of it. Now open the door."

Shaking her head incredulously, Janet quickly flung down her nail file as she pulled her chair closer to the monitor, two bright spots appearing in each pale cheek as she glared at the woman's image. "Listen honey, you may be used to people kissing your ass because you think you're so pretty, but that isn't how it works here. I-"

"Not my ass," the woman quickly countered, interrupting Janet's tirade as she beamed up at the camera, her smile almost dazzling despite the relatively poor quality of the connection. "They kiss my feet. I am a goddess, after all."

"Not here you're not," Janet countered, smiling snidely at the woman. "This is the Centre, and for all you're ever going to see of it, you might as well call me your Goddess and kiss my-" she broke off as the massive front doors that stood adjacent to her desk were knocked from their hinges, across the room, and crashed against the far wall of the cavernous foyer. Instantly, a large siren began to sound as Janet stumbled to her feet, her face draining of color as the two strangers slowly walked into the building. "How did you-" she began, only to have her words choked off as the woman crossed before her faster than Janet's eyes could follow, the woman's gray eyes locked impassively on hers as her hand slid around her throat.

"Never disrespect a Hell Goddess," Serantine murmured as the woman's face began to turn an alarming shade of red. "It's not healthy," she added before dragging the woman bodily across her desk until she was dangling before her. And then, with a small smile she tightened her hold, the woman's neck snapping like a small twig as her head rolled bonelessly to the side.

"The Key?" Dahm asked as Ser dropped the body carelessly to the hard floor before her, her hands absently wiping at the blood-stained dress she still wore.

"Most likely not here, either," she muttered, her words cross as she stepped over the woman to stand beside her fellow God.

"Then why even bother?" Dahm sighed as he absently wiped at the fresh blood that still marred his hand - a slayer's blood.

"This is why we bother," Ser countered, a large smile lifting her lips as the room suddenly filled with men and women of varying ages, all clothed in dark suits and skirts and carrying firearms that were pointed at the gods with unwavering aims.

"Hold your fire," one of the more burly men called out, his hand tightening on his own trigger as his eyes darted down to the secretary's body that lay behind the intruders, the cold woman's neck tilted at an odd angle. "We wait for Miss Parker," he ordered, his old eyes blinking back his sorrow as he straightened, even as the clatter of high heels announced her arrival.

"Sam, what the hell is-" Parker broke off as she pushed her way through her security force - and froze at the sight of Janet's unmoving body and the shattered doorway beyond. "Who in the hell are you?" she snapped, brown eyes narrowed into tiny slits even as she accepted a spare gun from the old cleaner and aimed it with quiet precision at the strangers.

"Why must your kind always hide behind these creations?" Serantine sighed, eyeing the pistols with disdain. "No matter," she sighed as she waved away their weapons as though they were toys. "We come for our Key."

"Your..." Parker trailed off, her eyes growing wide as their meanings became clear - as the meaning of the Hell Gods became abundantly clear. Hell Gods. At the Centre. "Oh shit," she breathed, her hand wavering ever so slightly as she took an unconscious step back.

"Miss Parker?" Sam asked, his voice carrying a note of worry as he took in the woman's pale features.

"Fire," she gasped in returned, her voice more a choked whisper into the deadly silence that had fallen upon the room. And when nothing happened, she felt her fiery Parker temper swell back as she clamped down on her fear and emotions and glared at her security force. "I said fire, damnit!" she roared, her brown eyes blazing as she turned back and proceeded to do just that, the hollow bang of her shots deafening in the large room as slug after slug sang through the air and tore through the bodies of the two gods, the momentum propelling them back even as their blood splattered the immaculate marble floor. And once Miss Parker and her security force exhausted their clips, a heavy silence fell upon the room, all eyes locked on the two gods that remained standing - and smiled before slowly starting forward.

Features paling, Miss Parker quickly reached for another round, her fingers fumbling on cold metal as the screams of her people began to fill the vast chamber, echoing madly and causing her hands to shake. Cursing, Miss Parker struggled with the metal, only to freeze, her job unfinished as the last scream melted away. Tears coming unbidden to her brown eyes, Parker slowly lifted her head, her chin tilted proudly even as her watery gaze fell upon the two gods that stood before her.

"You're not hiding our Key, are you?" Serantine murmured, her voice soft and pitying as she gently reached forward and caressed the proud woman's smooth cheek.

"No," Miss Parker whispered, a single tear breaking free and trickling down, moistening the goddess's hand even as Parker refused to look away. Refused to look at the carnage that she knew surrounded her tall form. Sam and so many others, their blood splattering the floor and the walls, the thick, cloying smell burning her nostrils. She didn't need to look because she had heard everything. She had heard it all. 

Stifling the sob that was building in her chest, Miss Parker slowly lowered the gun to her side, knowing it would be useless even as she thanked whoever was listening for keeping Jarod from this moment. She couldn't have faced her fate with such calm if she had known that her love's body was amongst the carnage. Not Jarod. And the thought of Jarod's beautiful brown eyes, crinkled in child-like wonder and delight, or hazed with love, brought a smile to Parker's full lips - a smile that twisted into a soundless scream as something pushed into her mind and pulled at her like a never-ending sucking vacuum.

Sighing softly, Dahmascus reveled in the light that flowed between his outstretched fingers before slowly, reluctantly pulling away. Immediately, the woman's knees buckled and she tumbled to the floor, her eyes slowly blinking and yet seeing nothing. Nodding, he turned and started for the door. "I begin to tire of this game," he murmured as Serantine fell into step beside him.

"Really?" Ser asked, her lips quirked in a contented smile. "I feel as if I could go forever," she murmured as they disappeared into the daylight, the echoing steps matching those of the feet that pounded down an adjacent hallway before finally spilling its occupant into the massive foyer beyond.

"Oh God," Jarod murmured, his knees growing weak and his body sagging against a nearby wall as his brown eyes stared unbelievably at the carnage that littered the massive foyer. It looked as though a child had painted the marble floors and walls with blood, the stench causing his stomach to turn painfully, his last donut threatening to make a return trip. Slipping his hand against his mouth, the Pretender willed for his stomach to settle even as he began to recognize the face of a colleague, of a friend, of a... lover.

"No," Jarod murmured, shaking his head slowly as he haltingly took a step forward. "No," he repeated, this time the word more a strangled plea as his brown eyes settled on Miss Parker's unmistakable form, a clean, unmarked haven in the red storm that surrounded her. "No," he moaned as he quickly staggered forward, his shoes slipping through the thick liquid and causing him to slide on wet knees to her side. "Parker?" he murmured as his hands clutched at the material of her dark jacket. "Parker!" he called, his voice becoming frantic as he hefted her towards him, cradling her body in his arms. "Angela," he whispered, his voice cracking as slowly, her long lashes began to flutter.

For a moment, it almost looked as though she didn't recognize him. And then he realized - she really didn't recognize him. Without a word, she slowly pulled away from his embrace and then looked down at her spotless jacket, her eyes narrowing in confusion. "It's dirty," she whispered, her voice small and childlike. "It's all dirty. And all over me!" she exclaimed as her pale, shaking hands began wiping at invisible flecks of dirt from her suit coat.

At first confused, Jarod stared at his love for a moment before the truth of what had befallen her slowly sunk in. And with that realization came the blinding pain of his heart.

"Dirty," she continued, whimpering softly as she continued to brush harder, and even harder at the spots that only she could see. "Bad. I'm bad," she whispered, tears filling her eyes as Jarod tenderly drew her into his arms, his muffled sobs echoing throughout the tomb he had fallen into, oblivious to everything but the shattering of his own heart.

**To be continued...**


	16. Chapter 16

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 16"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: And let the mayhem continue...

* * *

"Good afternoon, Mister Giles."

Startled from his thoughts, the watcher lifted his bespeckled gaze from the large text he cradled in his hands, his green eyes falling upon the beaming face of the young witch who manned the front desk of the Council. "Miss Appleton," he returned, smiling briefly at the young woman even as his eyes drifted back down to the book he carried, his mind mulling over the mystery of the Knights of the Byzantium, mentally cataloguing the different questions he would put to Hermione when he met up with her next. 

Oblivious to his surroundings, he continued across the pristine and slightly pompous reception area of the massive building, pausing only briefly as his shoulder knocked against someone. "My apologies," he muttered distractedly, glancing up for the briefest of moments to nod at the raven-haired young man that he had unwittingly walked into, before continuing on his way.

Glaring at the older man, Dahmascus lifted his hand slowly, only to have it pushed back to his side as Serantine pointedly pulled him to the waiting young woman, her smile practically blinding compared to the treatment that they had received at the building they had just vacated - the building in which their visit had ended on such a wonderful massacre.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked, her British accent clipping her words as she smiled at the young couple that stood before her - a smile that began to falter as she noticed the rather large stains that marred the couple's clothing. Frowning now, she unconsciously leaned a bit forward, trying to place the strange smell that seemed to drift over the fresh lemon of her desk's fine polish.

"We're here for our Key," Dahm quickly responded, flashing a similarly brilliant smile at the young woman, even as all color drained from her face. Within seconds the young witch's hand fell upon a small button as she pulled her wand free, and as an alarm began to sound throughout the building, the woman disappeared with a sharp crack, leaving the two gods staring at the empty place in vexation.

"Well that was rude," Ser muttered, her eyes narrowing as she turned and caught sight of the man that now stood frozen, his large book forgotten and his eyes locked upon them as the alarm blared above them.

"Dahmascus and Serantine," Giles murmured, his face draining of color as he finally matched the man that he had bumped into and the beautiful woman that stood beside him to Faith's description of the Hell Gods that had destroyed Celeste. A tall man with black hair and violet eyes and a slender woman with curly red hair and eyes of gray - and clothing that was covered in wet blood. Fumbling for his wand even as the two Hell Gods surged towards him, Giles apparated from the lobby and straight into the office of his old friend even as their hands closed around the empty air where he had just been standing.

Pausing in mid-stride towards his closed office door, Samuel Fellows turned at the sharp crack that echoed behind him, his wand raising defensively before him. "Rupert, why are you still here?" he demanded, his voice carrying above the careening noise of the alarm even as his eyes narrowed in frustration, his eyes darting anxiously towards his closed office door.

"They're here, Samuel - Dahmascus and Serantine are here," Giles explained as he strode towards his long-time friend, gripping his elbow tightly. Not that the explanation was even needed. After all, both he and Samuel had known that this day would come. For besides the group in Sunnydale, the Watcher's Council was the only link that the Hell Gods had to Buffy. It was only a matter of time before the gods came looking for answers, answers that now only Giles could provide. Not that the gods would be aware of that. Thus, every man and woman, watcher and researcher, wizard, witch and muggle had been given strict instructions of what they were to do should the ancient alarm ever sound. In Giles' case, he had already broken his own protocol by coming to Samuel instead of going to safety. Then again, after only finding and reacquainting himself with his old friend again after so long, the thought of leaving without even assuring himself that his friend was right behind him was inconceivable to the aging Watcher. "We must go to Hogwarts and warn Dumbledore - warn the others before-"

"Then go before it's too late," Samuel quickly interrupted as he pushed past his friend and hurried towards the door to his office.

"But... where are you going?" Giles interrupted as he pulled on his friend's tailored suit jacket, his green eyes crinkled in confusion. "I just told you that they're here. We must leave before-"

"Rupert, not all watchers are wizards - you know this," Samuel cut in, his words low and tense as his eyes bore into his old friend's. "I will not leave here until I am sure that all those who are muggles were able to reach a portkey. I will not abandon my watchers."

"And I won't leave without you," Giles stubbornly returned as he led the way into the bustling hall, wizards and witches locating friends before apparating to pre-designated safe points, muggles streaming towards the nearest portkey.

"No, my friend," Samuel quickly protested as he pulled on the other man's arm. "You know that you, out of everyone here, must get to safety. You now shoulder a weight far greater than just your own."

"But-"

"Are you really willing to risk your Slayer over such foolishness?" the head watcher cut in, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously on his old friend. And when Giles could only shake his head mutely in response, Samuel allowed a slight smile to lift his lips. "Then act as her watcher and protect your slayer," he urged, reaching a hand forward to clasp it warmly on his friend's shoulder. And with a last nod, Rupert Giles did as commanded and apparated to the gates outside of Hogwarts, from where he would then meet with Hermione Granger before entering the grounds of Hogwarts... which left Samuel free to see to his remaining watchers.

Hurrying past the many people that worked for the massive organization, the head watcher urged his people to move faster, to not tarry, and mainly, to get the Hell out of Dodge as fast as humanly possible. While he had never come face to face with the Hell Gods themselves, and hoped to never have to, he had insisted upon joining the team that had traveled to the small island in the Caribbean that had been the site of a Council massacre and had seen the evidence of their work firsthand. Even now, in the midst of such chaos, it was still far too easy for him to remember the look of fright and horror in the dead eyes of the people that had worked for him, trusted him, and went to that island on his command. They were his people and they were dead because of his decisions. He saw the results of the God's work and he knew that he would never be able to forget it.

Dodging around an older woman who careened down the hall towards the stationed portkey behind him, Samuel twisted around another corner and then hustled into a small office that housed a multitude of different small, black and white television screens. "Where are they?" he demanded as he quickly slid behind the young man that was seated there.

"Still in the lobby," the man quickly reported, his face ashen as he turned to his superior, one wavering finger lifting to point at one of the monitors. "Perkins and Wellington apparated in and didn't get away fast enough. They're dead," he murmured, his eyes closing briefly even as Samuel's hand tightened on the back of the chair.

"I told those fools not to try," Samuel sighed, feeling his grief turn to anger. "Stupid Gryffindor bravery," he hissed as he turned away from the gory scene, "willing to take on a pair of Hell Gods."

"Sir," the other man whispered, his voice falling from clenched teeth. "Sir, we have more on screen," he added, his finger falling on the hunched frame of an older gentlemen that was racing towards the front door - a man that Samuel instantly recognized as a Watcher from his father's generation, a muggle from East London. With him were a two new recruits as well as his head of the Demon Lore department - a middle-aged woman who should have known better.

"No they don't," Samuel countered grimly as he lifted his wand and apparated from the room with a sharp crack, the computer monitors quickly being replaced by the wood-toned room that was splashed with blood. Instantly his eyes fell upon the four watchers who were slowly being backed against a far wall by the two Gods, their faces pinched with fear while soft, muffled sobs battled against the blaring siren. Eyes flashing, Samuel held his wand aloft even as he took a few steps towards the group, his stern expression never wavering. "You have no place here," he called out, his voice firm and capturing the gods' attention as they turned towards him, twin smiles of delight playing with their fine features.

"And who are you?" Serantine asked, her prey forgotten as she turned towards the foolish man that dared to oppose them - the _only_ man that had dared to oppose them. Even the two fools that had appeared before them had realized the folly of their ways and immediately attempted to run, yet this man... this man showed no sign of fear even as his co-workers whimpered behind her.

"My name is Samuel Fellows and I am the Head of this Council," he returned, his words clipped as the gods slowly stepped closer even as his four watchers began to slowly make for the front door.

"Yes, we have heard of you," Dahm murmured as he scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Where is our Key?"

"Not here and no longer under Council protection," Samuel answered honestly, his fingers tightening on his wand even as the four continued to make their painfully slow trek towards the door. If only they would get clear then he could apparate to safety - just a few minutes distraction more was all that was needed. "You saw to that," he added, his eyes locking on the two and the briefest flash of anger pulling at his features.

"But our Key is _your_ Slayer," Ser countered, frowning at the man.

"It matters not," Samuel retorted, watching as the first watcher slipped to freedom. "She is no longer under our protection, so leave now and cease in this pointless pursuit. There is no one here that can help you," he muttered, his hand tightening unconsciously on his wand as the last watcher slipped to freedom. However, before he could even focus his thoughts on a point of safety, the tall God was before him, his perfectly shaped hand cracking against his own so hard that Samuel was sure it shattered as his wand went tumbling across the carpet.

As the man staggered to the ground, his features twisted in soundless agony as he cradled his shattered hand against his chest, Dahm leveled a benign smile at his companion. "Perhaps... or perhaps we simply must find the right motivation," he stated as he turned and looked down into the proud man's pain-glazed eyes - eyes that, even then, understood his helplessness all too well.

"You will never find her," Samuel vowed between clenched teeth, his eyes watering from the pain even as the alarm finally fell silent.

"No, we will find her," Serantine vowed into the quiet room, smiling sweetly at him as she gently gripped his shoulder with one pale hand - and then dug her nails into the flesh, holding his body in place as her other hand pushed back on his forehead until his head snapped back with a sharp crack that echoed in the room. Yet the crack wasn't nearly enough to muffle the sound of a young woman's terrified scream from the hallway behind them.

Turning, Serantine smiled at the tall, slender young woman with long, full auburn hair. She was young, this one, and her hazel eyes were wide and filled with tears as they locked on the unmoving form of the man that lay before them. "Now, now, my dear. There's no need for tears," she murmured as she slowly began to advance on the frightened young woman, only to curse loudly and vehemently as she disappeared with a sharp crack. "I hate it when they do that," she hissed, eyes narrowing.

"Then perhaps we shall have to be quicker, now shan't we?" Dahm returned dryly, his eyes narrowing before turning back to his bloody mayhem.

* * *

With a sharp crack that echoed in the frosty afternoon air, Hermione appeared before Giles, her legs very nearly collapsing beneath her as the older man quickly reached out a steadying hand. "Good Lord, Hermione, where have you been?" he demanded, his face pale and his hands freezing from the bitter February air, his eyes raking over her shivering form and sending up a silent blessing when he realized that she didn't appear to be injured. "When you weren't here I very nearly..." he began, his words dying away as he noticed the tears that were running down the young woman's cheeks, her body shaking so hard even though the watcher knew that it couldn't already be from the bitter cold, not yet. "What's wrong?" he murmured, his voice growing deeper as he stared at the girl in concern.

"S-S-Samuel," Hermione stammered, her word a choked whisper as her fingers dug into the thick material of Giles' sweater, her face pale. "Samuel's dead," she whispered, her breath hitching in her throat even as the watcher froze, his face becoming slack as he seemed to sway before her.

"Samuel?" he replied distantly, his eyes not quite focusing on the girl that stood before him, shivering madly in the cold. "B-b-but I just saw him. He-he-he's coming here."

"No," Hermione sobbed as she instinctively stepped closer to the older man, her thin arms wrapping around his waist as she buried her face in his soft sweater. "I-I-I saw it and I didn't do anything. I just stood there," she gasped as Giles' arms slowly wrapped around her, his head bowing until his forehead rest against the top of her thick auburn hair.

For a moment, Giles could only allow his grief to well up within him. To think that Samuel was dead... that one of his oldest friends had been taken from him, when just scant minutes ago he had been holding onto his arm in the warm halls of the Council. It was inconceivable.... no, it was worse. Taking a ragged breath, he quickly shook his grief away. There would be time for mourning later. For now, all that mattered was getting word to Dumbledore and then sending word out to the others. They _had_ to reach the others before they were too late. If the Council was just the first stop for the gods on a path of destruction, Faith and the others in Sunnydale had to be warned. They had to vacate the house and leave it before it was too late.

"Come, Hermione," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled the girl away and began leading her towards the gates to Hogwarts, only to pause as a soft popping noise echoed behind him.

"Funny meeting you here."

Turning so fast that his shoes kicked up a fine plume of freshly fallen snow, Giles felt his eyes widen in horror at the sight of Dahmascus and Serantine, standing so primly in the ankle-deep snow before them. The goddess still wore a thin summer dress, splattered with blood and gore, while her companion was still clothed in his loose-fitting pants and thin shirt, more stained than not - and both looked completely at ease in the freezing northern wind, the cold sun glinting off of their hair.

"Giles?" Hermione whimpered, her eyes frozen on the two.

"Rupert Giles?" Dahm asked, his eyes thoughtfully taking in the older man before sliding to the girl next to him - the one that had just evaded their grasp moments before. "And I suppose that would make you Hermione Granger," he added, easily recalling the names that Bertrone had fed to them. "We just missed you at the Council," he stated, grinning widely as he took a slow, measured step towards the two.

"Run!" Giles ordered, practically shoving the young Gryffindor before him as she stumbled through the gates of Hogwarts, falling in a heap in the snow just past the wrought iron as Giles dove in behind her. Feeling the icy snow beneath him, the aging watcher turned in time to see Dahmascus attempt to follow him through - only to stop as the invisible barrier prevented his entry. "Go! _Go!_" he ordered, pulling himself and the girl to their feet as he shoved her down the wooded path that led to the castle, all the while praising Dumbledore in his foresight in re-creating the barrier that prevented all those who were not loyal to the aged headmaster from entering the school grounds. A praise that was cut short as the barrier and every other ward that protected the school shattered only seconds later, the magical backlash lifting both he and Hermione and tossing them so far that when he next unburied himself from the thick snow, he was now lying in the middle of the open courtyard before the main doors to the castle.

Struggling to his feet, Giles was reaching for his wand as he turned to see the frightened students that were scattered about the frozen yard, their eyes locked on he and Hermione. "Get inside! _Get inside!!_" he roared, scaring the students so badly that they quickly turned and began scurrying towards the castle doors. "Hermione, apparate!" Giles continued as he turned to where the Gryffindor was slowly pulling herself to her feet, her long skirt covered in snow and a long scratch marring her cheek.

"But I can't-"

"The wards are down, now _ go!_" Giles insisted, even as she slowly shook her head, her face paling as she held up the remnants of her wand - the wand that had been broken into small fragments of useless wood in the fall. She was powerless. Freezing, Giles slowly lifted his eyes and felt a shiver of stark terror course through his limbs.

"I can't," she repeated, her large, desperate eyes raising towards him. Closing them, she quickly shook her head as she turned back towards the gate, knowing already what she would see. And as Giles cursed quietly and then slowly steered her behind him, she knew that she had been right as she slowly opened her eyes, peering around Giles' stiff shoulders to see the Hell Gods quickly approaching.

Steeling his shoulders, Giles quickly lifted his wand. "_Stupefy!_" he cried, waving and flicking his wand in the usual order, feeling the magic rush through his limbs and soar through his wand - and not finding himself terribly surprised when the magic seemed to cause the gods to pause for only the slightest of moments before they continued forward. "_Petrificus totalus!_" he tried, even as he began forcing he and Hermione back towards the castle that rose majestically behind them. "_Expelliarmus! Locomotor mortis! Impedimenta!_" he cried, his mind frantically reaching for any spell that could help, always to find that his magic did nothing but slow their quickly moving steps by the smallest of a fraction. "_Incendio! Furnunculus!_" he shouted, growing desperate as the two Gods drew before him. And then, all time seemed to slow as Giles found himself caught warily in the middle with Hermione shivering against his back and Dahmascus and Serantine standing silently before him.

Sighing, Giles knew no words need be spoken and instead realized with a sickening feeling that he had failed. He had failed Hermione and ultimately, he had failed his Slayer. Locking eyes with first Dahmascus, and then turning towards Serantine, he slowly shook his head. No, that wasn't true. While he may have failed Hermione this day, he would _never_ fail his Slayer. "You'll never have her," he stated, his words simple and quiet, yet carrying easily to the four that gathered on the bright, sunny day on the grounds of his beloved school.

"Funny," Ser returned, smiling oddly at him. "That's what the last guy said."

The first blow caught him across the chest, causing him to spin painfully away from his assailant and plow into the snow beneath him. Gasping, Giles turned his head to spit out a mouthful of blood even as Hermione's terrified shriek rent the cold air - but then her shriek was cut off as the sound of skin hitting skin echoed about him as her slender body toppled over his, her pained whimper echoing hollowly in his mind. Grimacing, Giles reached for his wand, only to have the wood kicked away from him, the cold snow blinding him as his eyes watered painfully. But then... suddenly they were no longer alone as sharp cracks began to echo in the snowy courtyard, one after the other until the sound alone almost made him dizzy.

"Step away from them," Dumbledore ordered, his normally jovial blue eyes now bitter, hard and flat as they took in the scene spread before him. The aging headmaster had felt the barriers go down the second it happened, the backlash carrying so far, and his connection so strong with the school that he had almost collapsed when it hit him. Within moments he had sounded his voice throughout the school, ordering prefects to get the students to their rooms even as he called the staff and other 'guests' to him. All had been done in a matter of minutes, yet even those minutes had been too long as he looked down at the two gods that towered over Mister Giles and Miss Granger.

"Or what?" Dahmascus asked as he slowly reached for the young girl who cowered beside the stunned watcher.

"Lay one hand on the girl," Snape quickly cut in, his voice low and dangerous as he stepped past Black and Lupin and closer to the headmaster, "and I won't use the same restraint." And while his colleagues understood his threat all too well, their eyes growing large even as the headmaster nodded solemnly towards him, the gods paid his warning no mind as the male continued to move towards the young Gryffindor, her cheek already red and swollen and twin streaks of tear marring her dirty cheeks. Eyes narrowing, Snape called upon the darkest magic that he knew - a spell that he hadn't been forced to use in over a year - and yet a spell and its effects that would forever haunt his remaining days. "_Avada kedavra!_" he roared, channeling the dark magic through the narrow length of his wand and emitting a streak of green death that shot towards the dark-haired god - and which caused him to step back a pace or two before glaring at the greasy-haired Potions Professor.

"I wouldn't try that again, if I were you," Dahmascus warned as he shook away the remnants of the deadly spell, breaking the disbelieving silence that fell upon the group. After all, none save Harry Potter himself - and Faith Evans, the other slayer - had ever been hit by the killing curse and lived to tell about it, and even Harry had been forever marred by the dark magic while Faith's encounter had spelled her death, albeit temporarily. Dahmascus, on the other hand, looked as though he had thrown nothing more than a simple jinx. Then, without another word he surged towards the young woman that whimpered pathetically before him, only to frown as the older watcher moved protectively before her.

"Leave this-" Giles began, his words cut short as the angry God fisted his hand and rocked it against the side of Giles' head in a move that lifted the watcher and tossed him hundreds of feet back towards the wrought iron gates to the castle, his body plowing through the soft snow before finally coming still and not rising again.

"Giles!" Hermione shrieked, forgetting the pain that radiated from what had to be a fractured cheek bone as she tried to struggle to her feet, only to fall back and lay still as the air around her seemed to erupt in magic. As though some invisible word had been spoken, her cry seemed to break the wizards and witches from their paralysis as spells, jinxes, and the occasional charm flew through the clear sky and pelted to the two gods. Dark magic, light magic - the professors were as indiscriminate and varied as the castors themselves. Flitwick with his charms, Remus with his DADA defenses, and the others with whatever they could find. Nothing was held back... and, to Hermione's growing horror, nothing did any good. Not even Dumbledore, himself.

Practically growling as he came to the same conclusion as the horrified Gryffindor, Sirius finally ceased in his frantic spell-casting, knowing instinctively that he wasn't helping. He was an Auror - one of the best in the division, and there was nothing he could do against the gods that had the ability to destroy any and everyone that the ex-prisoner had ever cared about. They were worse than Death Eaters, creatures, demons, and even Lord Voldemort himself. They were Gods. Hell Gods, and for the first time, Sirius understood truly what they were fighting. He knew firsthand what they were capable of and at the remembered agony that he had faced at their hands, he finally felt his restraint snap. Without thought, Sirius angrily tossed his wand to the side as he focused on his magic and transformed into his animagus form.

"Sirius, no!" Remus called, witnessing his friend's transformation and hurrying forward even as the large black dog took a running leap from the steps and dove towards the hell goddess's unprotected back, his sharp fangs and claws drawing blood as his weight carried them into the snow.

Narrowing her eyes in anger, Serantine easily flipped her assailant to the side and reclaimed her feet, swiveling quickly and freezing as her cold, gray eyes fell upon the black hound's limp form. The familiar black form that she all too easily recognized. "Well, if it isn't our friend, the monk," she murmured, a slow smile lifting her lips as she began advancing towards the unconscious beast's form - and pausing as a gray-haired man slid in between them, his wand held protectively before him.

"You'll not touch him again," Remus vowed, his words low and dangerous as he quickly began calling upon every spell that his time as DADA professor had ever taught him. All, of course, to no avail - and with each step that the red-haired goddess took towards him, Remus was forced to take a similar step back until the back of his leg brushed against Padfoot's furry back. Frantic, Remus wracked his mind for anything, _anything_ that would prevent the beautiful creature from harming his friend once more. Suddenly, his frantic thoughts were scattered as a large bellow broke through the jumbled confusion as Hagrid leapt from the side and tackled the goddess - only to be tossed aside just like any other.

Which was, of course, when things became even worse, if such a thing was possible, as Ron Weasley arrived on the scene. The recent Hogwarts graduate had been at the store with Bill and Charlie when the Council member had apparated in front of their counter, his face pale and his hands trembling as he passed warning that the Council had been attacked. Instantly Ron had reached for his cloak and wand, knowing exactly where to find Hermione and desperate to assure himself that she was alright. Seconds later, he had found himself before the gates to the school, and the second he passed through the wrought iron arch he knew that he was most likely already too late. Frantic, he had broken into a run, his heart beating furiously against his breast as he rounded the last curve and froze at the sight before him. 

Blood seemed to paint the snow red in places as his old professors and friends lay strewn amongst the mess, the ones that were still able currently engaged in the fight of their lives. One slow, startled step after another carried him closer to the battlefield, his knees failing him as he tumbled beside the first unmoving body he reached, his hands tentatively reaching forward to wipe at the blood that trickled from a wound on Giles' head. He didn't understand how such a thing could be possible. The gods were supposed to have been at the Council of Watchers in London. How could they have known about the connection with Hogwarts? How could they have followed Giles and Hermione to... Hermione.

As a terrified shriek tore through the screams, yells, and muffled curses that echoed beneath the bright sunshine, Ron felt his face pale as his large hazel eyes finally found his girlfriend in the mass of moving bodies. With a vicious yank, a dark-haired stranger wrapped his hands around Hermione's slender neck, his fingers pinching white skin as he bodily lifted her to her feet and held her against his lean frame. Already blood trailed down a swollen, bruised face as the young Gryffindor's wide, terrified eyes locked with those of the aging headmaster, her gaze carrying a silent plea to stop this. To save her. All the while oblivious to the frantic steps of the boy that she loved as he staggered towards her from behind.

"Stop!" Dumbledore quickly called out, his loud voice booming over the chaos and causing a temporary stillness to fall upon the bloodied grounds - grounds that hadn't seen such violence since the attack that Voldemort and his forces had wrought over six months before. "We do not harbor what you seek on these grounds. Release the girl," he stated, his voice carrying an underlying edge that few had ever heard before in the powerful wizard's voice. A wizard that had defeated Grindewald, the dark wizard that had terrorized the wizarding community nearly five decades ago, and had spearheaded the fight against the darkest of all dark wizards, Lord Voldemort himself - and who had been proven powerless against the Hell Gods that held his former student in hand.

Frowning, Dahmascus curtly shook his head as he pulled the young girl tighter against him, her pained whimper escaping from her bruised windpipe as she balanced on her toes, vainly attempting to gain some height to ease the pressure on her strained breathing. Normally such a demand would be met with the girl's death before the carnage continued, but now the god found himself practicing a rarely used tactic called patience as Serantine coldly met his eyes. While their campaign of terror had only really started little over a half hour ago in both Sunnydale and Los Angeles, Dahm found himself quickly becoming bored with their lack of progress. After all, Bertrone had only been able to provide them with so many names and locations, promising that the answers would somehow lay with one of them. But now... now they had spent all of their locations and killed or maimed many of those who lived under the names that they had been given. Their options were low and in return, Dahmascus had no choice but to lower himself to mere mortal means in order to receive the answers that he desired. The problem with dealing with mortals, he supposed. "Tell me where the Key lies or she dies," he murmured, tilting his head quizzically to the side as he realized he had inadvertently left them with a rather odd rhyme.

"But how can we give you this information if we do not know the answers you seek?" Dumbledore quickly returned, his hands spreading peacefully to each side as he tried to implore to whatever good rest within the dark-haired god - his first and most deadly mistake. After all, Dahmascus was a Hell God and it was more likely to of found good within Lord Voldemort than either Dahmascus or Serantine. A point that Dahm quickly proved as he quickly tightened his painful hold, the girl's strangled gasp echoing in the quiet grounds as her face began to darken, her hands clawing at his own.

Smirking, Dahmascus slowly bent his head and lay a soft kiss against the crown of the girl's frizzy brown hair. "Then there's no reason to let her live, now is there?" he murmured as his hold tightened even more until no air was able to pass through her tortured lips.

Seeing this, Ron felt his entire world narrow until it was as though he was looking through a vast tunnel - a tunnel that ended on Hermione's battered face and the tears that pooled in her eyes. Dumbledore was going to let her die. They were all going to let her die - no, they had no _choice_ but to let her die. For even if they were willing to sacrifice Buffy and Harry for Hermione, a trade that not even Ron was willing to fully consider the implications of, he knew that such a decision was beyond them. After all, that was the beauty of the secret-keeper: no one truly knew where Buffy and Harry were hidden save the secret-keeper himself, none other than Rupert Giles - and he was currently very unconscious and certainly in no condition to barter for Hermione's life. Hermione...

He had known Hermione for over seven years. He had watched her grow from the know-it-all nuisance into the beautiful, confident, and brilliant young woman that he had fallen desperately in love with somewhere along the way. They still bickered continuously, their stubbornness practically infamous, but Ron knew without a doubt that he would do anything for the girl that he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Truly anything.

"Wait!" he cried, his voice breaking the silence that had been punctuated by Hermione's struggles for air. Instantly he found the attentions of the headmaster, his former professors (that were still conscious), the hell gods, and, most importantly, Hermione focused upon him. While he could easily read the panic that registered on the faces of most, the only person that he truly had eyes for was Hermione - and the fact that she was unable to hide her fear caused him to take an unconscious step forward, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. Right now, the only thing that mattered in the world to Ron was forever erasing that fear from Hermione's eyes. The shop, his parents, his family and even Harry himself fell away, everything forgotten as his eyes locked with Hermione's. Nothing else mattered. Nothing.

"We're using the Fidelius Charm," he stated, his voice hard even as the shocked and dismayed cries of the others echoed in the clearing, Hermione's eyes blinking shut even as she seemed to beg him to stop. "Which basically means that _I'm_ the only one who knows where they are," he continued softly, a gentle smile lifting his lips as Hermione's eyes widened in horrified understanding. "Let her go and leave the others alone and I'll tell you what I know," he finished, his eyes lifting long enough to stare determinedly into the violet eyes of the god that held his girlfriend.

"Who are we to argue?" a soft, feminine voice whispered in Ron's ear, causing the teen to stiffen as a hand clamped painfully on his shoulder. Freezing, he slowly turned his head to see that somewhere in the midst of his bargaining, Serantine had moved behind him, a wicked smile lifting her lips. Turning, she nodded towards her companion as she smiled beautifully at the red-haired boy. "Dahm, let the girl be - we have what we've been searching for," she stated as the god shoved Hermione aside, her pained grunt mingling with the cries of the others as Professor McGonagall quickly hurried to the girl's side.

"No!" Hermione gasped, fighting for breath as she massaged her bruised neck. "Ron!" she screamed, her voice painfully weak as Dahmascus moved until he was standing before Serantine, Ron trapped between them. "Ron!" she cried again, her boyfriend looking over Serantine's head, his smile sad and loving as he whispered the words that she longed to hear, his vow of love tearing at her heart even as the goddess lifted a small token between them - and with a soft pop, all three disappeared from the clearing with only the bodies of those that they had harmed, and the witnesses to the atrocious acts, left behind.

**To be continued...**


	17. Chapter 17

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 17"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: I can't believe that chapter 17 is here already!! This story is definitely going to be 22 chapters (and not an iota more), so that means we're only five chapters from completion - and I'm jumping up and down because I only have chapter 22 to write before I can finally start on other projects! While this one is at least 10 chapters shorter than TOF, it truly is a monster as already the word count surpasses the first in the trilogy. When did I ever become so long-winded?? ;p Anyway, since we truly are winding down, the more I hear from you all, the faster I'll post. *grins* And yes, that is a blatant plea for feedback. It amazes me every single time I post a chapter for it seems that with each new posting, I hear from at least a few new people.. yet you wonderful people never seem to stick around! So if anyone's out there, will you please let me know? Please??

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With a soft pop of displaced air, Ron felt the insistent tug at his navel finally lessen and then disappear altogether, the world settling dizzyingly around him as he staggered in between the two gods. Frowning in confusion, the red-haired teen allowed his eyes to sweep over Serantine's head as he took in the old, aging machinery and the dilapidated structures that surrounded them - and even more importantly, the weak sun that was currently trying to struggle over the hazy horizon. "A portkey?" he murmured, more to himself than to the gods that surrounded him even as he fought the panic that threatened to consume him. He was alone now. Alone and very far away from his friends and anyone to help him. Alone with the gods that he had just tricked in order to save Hermione. And somehow.. somehow he knew that things were not about to go his way. "How did you get a portkey?" he asked, pushing past the fear and focusing on the obvious problem that he was faced with. After all, the only way to get a portkey was from an experienced-

"What is he doing here? What happened to you?"

Startled, Ron quickly turned from his place between the two gods, his hazel eyes falling on a familiar figure who was slowly emerging from one of the abandoned muggle buildings. "The watcher?" he asked, struggling to remember the French man's name even as his mind vaguely tried to process what was happening.

"He claimed that they were using something called the Fidelius charm," Serantine shrugged as she casually stepped around the boy and stretched her long, pale arms above her head. "He said that he was the only one who knew their location."

"Their secret keeper?" Bertrone returned, his gray eyes falling on the boy before quickly shaking his head. "While I don't doubt that they've decided to use the Fidelius charm, I'm quite sure that he's not their secret keeper," he stated, his voice flat as he turned away from the boy that was staring at him with incredulous and increasingly accusing hazel eyes. Sighing, he frowned once more as he took in the blood splattered garments that robed the duo and began to voice his concerns before quickly biting his lip. In the end, he decided that he didn't want to know. After all, even as he had betrayed those that he had worked alongside for the past few months, he had known that the gods would never keep their promises to leave them uninjured. Yet in the end, even those fears hadn't been enough to stay his lips as he had told the gods everything that they had wanted to know. If he should survive this battle, and should Celeste be restored to him, he doubted that she would ever be willing to look at him again once she had learned of what he had done... but in the end, not even that mattered as long as Celeste was indeed saved.

"Watcher?"

Sighing, Bertrone shook away his troubling thoughts as he gazed at the boy once more - this time, sadly. "The real secret-keeper is most likely the boy's godfather or the girl's watcher," he admitted, even as he realized that the boy whose face was slowly darkening in anger, had most likely just sealed his own fate by lying to the Hell Gods.

"Traitor!" Ron finally hissed, his anger exploding in an outward rush as he finally realized how the gods knew about Hogwarts and who had supplied them with the portkey they had needed in order to make their escape. They had been betrayed, and their betrayer stood before them, his gray eyes revealing nothing as he refused to look the young wizard in the eye.

Sighing in vexed frustration, Serantine turned narrowed eyes upon the young wizard that was so busy glaring at the watcher that he didn't even notice her growing ire. All that time and energy _wasted_ on a boy who knew nothing. They had had the godfather _and_ the watcher right before them, and if the boy had only spoken the truth, they would have had both men with them now. And this time, she was sure that she would have been able to make the wizard talk. Within minutes she could of had him singing like a canary as he told her everything that she needed to know. Instead, they were left with nothing but a simple boy who had the gall to _lie_ to her. Frowning, Serantine crossed her bare arms across her blood-splattered chest, her eyes narrowing even further - and beneath the immense heat of her fiery gaze, the red-haired boy finally ceased in his fruitless anger, fear returning to his hazel eyes as he turned towards her. "Then I see no need to keep this one," she murmured, her words a silky soft breath of air as she slowly advanced on the youth that was more boy than man, his bright freckles standing out on his pale cheeks.

Heart hammering against its cage in his chest, Ron felt as though he was facing a horde of dementors as a deep feeling of cold swept through his long limbs, stealing away every remembrance of hope and happiness as he felt the full weight of icy fear consume him. His mom had always warned him that lying would get him into trouble, yet somehow, Ron doubted that the plump, matronly woman had ever guessed how true her words would be. Yet at the thought of his mother, Ron felt some of the fear melt away to be replaced by an aching burn in his chest. This was going to hurt his family very much... too much. After loosing Fred and George, to lose another son - another brother... it was going to be more than his family could handle. His mom, dad.... Bill and Charlie... Ginny... and even Percy... their numbers had already dropped from seven to five. How could he allow them to lose another? And who would help his brothers with the shop? Who would keep help Harry and keep him from getting into trouble all alone? And most importantly, who would be there to hold Hermione as she cried? Who would be there to bait her into an argument so that her pain and worries would be forgotten? Who would be there to kiss the past away?

No one would. No one could. Unless...

Feeling as though someone had dumped a bucket of icy water over his head, Ron blinked stupidly at the advancing goddess before his hand tunneled through the deep fabric of his cloak. His wand. How could he have forgotten his wand? How could he have-

"_Accio_ wand!"

As the shiny wood smacked painfully against his reaching hand, Ron quickly found his stunned eyes lifting towards the gray-haired wizard that stared at him with such pity, one hand holding his own wand as the other waited, open and outstretched, for his own wand to sail into the man's waiting hand. Unconsciously cradling his injured digits against the scratchy material of his heavy sweater, his traveling cloak swirling around his long legs, Ron couldn't hide the betrayal that seemed to want to bury him beneath its choking gasp. He no longer had the desire to watch his fate unfold before him, and as he felt the goddess' hand fall upon one broad shoulder, another larger hand latching onto the other, he merely closed his eyes and waited for the end to take him.

"Wait," Bertrone cautioned, stopping the gods with his words as he stared at the boy with undisguised pity. "We can use him yet," he murmured as the boy's sad hazel eyes slowly opened and fixed on him once more. Gone was the self-righteous anger and the agonizing betrayal. In its place merely stood a resigned weariness that tore at the French watcher's heart more than anything else. Forcing his eyes away, Bertrone lifted shaking hands and pulled at a square, thinly wrapped object that was hidden in an inner coat pocket. "I stopped at the godfather's home while you were-"

"No," Ron quickly interrupted, the spark once more returning to his eyes as he took in the small, square mirror that Bertrone held in his aged hands. The mirror that he recognized all too easily as the brother of the one that Sirius had given Harry at Christmas - a gift that was given before the French watcher. "No," he repeated, knowing instantly what the turncoat wanted of him.

"Explain yourself, Watcher," Dahmascus intoned as he silenced the boy with a none-too-gentle squeeze of the young man's shoulder.

"You're holding the best friend of your Key's companion," Bertrone explained as he slowly admired the ancient mirror. "He can contact him using this mirror and convince him to come-"

"I won't," Ron insisted, interrupting the man even as he tried to twist free of the god's painful hold. Putting his Gryffindor courage to the test by selflessly sacrificing himself to save Hermione was one thing. But to willingly trick his best friend into leaving whatever sanctuary he and Buffy had found in order to step into a trap? That was an entirely different story and one that Ron knew he would never do. He and Harry had been through far too much over the past seven years. A game of deadly wizarding chess, venturing into the Chamber of Secrets with a defunct wand, being kidnapped by Harry's apparently deranged godfather and standing up against Snape, standing by him (albeit rather towards the end) of the Triwizard Tournament, and then facing down a war by his best friend's side - facing unknown demons and creatures of the night... to think that Bertrone would believe that he had done all of that only to betray Harry in the end was the stupidest thing that he had ever heard. An opinion that he wasn't against voicing, no matter what it brought upon him. "You're crackers," he stated, his voice flat as he glared at the aging watcher. "I wouldn't touch that bloody mirror with a ten foot poll."

"If you want to live you will," Dahm countered, his expression turning stormy as he released the teen. Instantly, the red-headed boy turned to him with incredulous eyes, his fear forgotten as he stared at the god, slowly shaking his head.

"Do you really think I'm that daft?" he asked, his gaze sweeping back and forth between the two gods that Hermione had researched so thoroughly. "I'm dead one way or the other, we both know that," he stated, his words blunt as he took a step away from the duo.

"Then think of your cooperation as a ticket to a quicker, more painless demise," Serantine promised, her eyes narrowing into thin, gray slits as she slowly began advancing on the teen.

"Oh gee, when you put it _ that_ way," Ron muttered before quickly backtracking even further. "Forget it. Next time talk to Snape if you want to find someone to betray Harry. I won't-" he began, his promises silenced by the sharp crack of the fist that pounded against his chin and sent him tumbling back and to the cracked pavement. Biting back the groan that threatened to break free, Ron grimaced at the coppery taste of blood that flooded his mouth, staining his teeth pink as he turned and spit the gooey mess from his split lips.

"Are you still so sure in your beliefs?" Dahmascus asked as he drew before the downed teenager, blocking the weak winter sunlight and casting the boy into shadow.

"Positive," Ron muttered, ignoring the flare of pain that the small movement caused as he was bodily lifted to his feet by the front of his traveling cloak, only to receive another fist in response - this one catching him in the side over his kidney as bone shattered and dug into tissue, spreading a wave of fiery agony up and down his side. But within minutes, that small pain became lost amongst a much larger host of agonies as the gods released their frustration upon his lean form, delivering their vengeance upon him with a sadistic mirth that would have disgusted him if he hadn't been receiving the beating of his life. Occasionally they would stop to ask if he had changed his mind, but as the time passed, those pauses became more infrequent as they seemed to lose themselves in their twisted game.

Countless hours later... or perhaps merely minutes, the rain of abuse seemed to slowly die away until his body was left trembling upon the blood-stained ground - his blood. Dimly, Ron realized that it _had_ to be his blood that splattered the black pavement and his blood that seemed to soak through his thick sweater and old trousers. There was so much blood that Ron vaguely found himself wondering how he could possibly bleed that much, yet still maintain his tenuous grip on consciousness. Where was the blissful promise of release that came with the darkness of unconsciousness? Why was he stuck in this hell and most importantly, why had they stopped?

Grimacing, Ron weakly lifted his head, his dark eyes trying vainly to focus his blurry sight on the shapes that seemed to drift around him. And then, with a sudden shift everything came into momentary clarity as his hazel eyes locked on the stoic form of Bertrone as the French watcher stood tall and imposing before his battered body. As though from a great distance, the man's heavily accented words filtered through his foggy brain, his muttered _imperio_ sounding so vaguely familiar even as his consciousness seemed to be thrust back into a further corner of his mind.

_Take the mirror_.

Sighing softly, Ron weakly pulled himself forward until he was slumped against something hard and unyielding. The pain was gone, as though taken away by magic, and all that remained was a blissful peace that was only interrupted by the commanding voice that seemed to echo around him. Take the mirror? Well that certainly didn't seem so difficult or too much to ask, and without further thought, Ron took the small, square mirror in his blood-stained hands.

_Call Harry's name into the mirror. Call for Harry_.

Frowning idly, Ron tried to puzzle as to why such a simple request should be met with such unease. After all, Harry was his friend. His best friend. Why shouldn't he want to contact him? "Harry Potter," he stated, his voice slightly slurred and wet-sounding through his bloody lips. Yet even as the name was uttered, the feeling of unease seemed to deepen as his mind seemed to struggle with something.

"Ron? Ron!" Harry frantically cried as his image wavered into view before Ron, his black hair a stark contrast to his pale features as his green eyes frantically took in his bloody and beaten friend. Within seconds the mirror seemed to shift until both Harry and Buffy were staring back at him, both of their features fixed in mirroring expressions of stunned horror.

"Ron, what happened?" Buffy demanded, her green eyes beginning to narrow into twin slits of fire.

_Tell them that the school was attacked and that the you took a portkey to escape._

Frowning through his pain, Ron struggled with this request, knowing instinctively that this voice that seemed to thunder through his mind was not a voice to be trusted. It wanted to hurt Harry and Buffy. It wanted to hurt him. Yet even as he realized this, he found himself unable to prevent the words that fell from him mouth even as his features twisted into something that grotesquely resembled fright. "H-Hogwarts was attacked by the Hell Gods. We took a portkey to get away."

"Hogwarts... attacked? Where are you now?" Harry quickly demanded, his face paling even more as Buffy cursed vehemently beside him, her expression seeming torn between anger and despair.

_Tell him that you are located in a town in the States that is called Cleveland._

_NO!_ Ron _knew_ that he didn't want to tell them that. He _knew_ it with every fiber of his being. He knew that he should fight and should throw off whatever was holding him down, no matter the peace that it promised. Then again, Ron had never quite mastered the art of throwing of the Imperius Curse. It didn't matter how long he and Harry had worked on it, or how easily Harry always managed to throw the curse, for Ron, it was near impossible. And with his body as battered and broken as it was, with his spirit so weak and tired... how could he refuse? "W-We're in some Yank muggle town. Cleveland," he responded, his bloody spittle spraying the old mirror.

"Ohio?" Buffy murmured, a perplexed frown spreading across her tight features.

_Yes... the portkey went awry. You need their help. Your girlfriend is hurt, you can't wake her - you don't know what to do. They could be coming for you._

_Bloody hell she is!_ - Ron wanted to curse, wanted to scream his anger and vexation to the Heavens. But instead of words and phrases that would cause his mother to blanch and wash his mouth out, no matter his age, Ron found the lies continue to slip from his lips. "That's it," he agreed, nodding his head mutely. "The portkey - I don't know," he stammered. "Harry, I need your help," he murmured, his voice falling softly. "H-Hermione is hurt and I-I-I can't wake her. I don't know what to do. They could be coming for me...."

"We're on our way," Harry quickly promised as Buffy nodded her head vehemently beside him. "Where are you? Exactly?"

_Warehouses... Adams Storage... hurry_.

"I-I don't know," Ron stammered, his teeth beginning to chatter. "There are warehouses all over... Adams Storage," he mumbled. "Hurry," he added before something caused his hand to loosen on the mirror, the ancient magical object falling the few feet to the ground where it shattered in a spray of flying glass.

Confused, Ron felt the peace begin to fade away as his mind once more became his own. For a moment, he could only sit and stare stupidly at the shards of the broken mirror even as the pain once more returned, burning through his body with a fierce vengeance that brought tears to his eyes. Yet as the realization of what he had just done filtered through his mind, the tears no longer burned from the pain.

He had betrayed his best friend and invited him into a trap.

Oh, he knew that Harry wasn't stupid. He was sure that even as he sat there, wallowing in his misery, his best friend would be attempting to fire call Sirius and the others... but he wouldn't reach anybody. He couldn't. Everyone had been left behind at Hogwarts on a snow-covered field of blood. There was no one to reach. No one to warn them. And instead of doing the sensible thing and waiting for the others, Harry and Buffy would use the power that was uniquely theirs and allow it to take them to where they were needed. They would come to Cleveland and then they would come to him. And then the Hell Gods would have what they most desired. They would have their Key.

"Shh... shh my sweet, sweet boy," Serantine cooed as she settled lightly beside the boy's battered form as he leaned against the side of the old warehouse. "You did well," she soothed as she gently swept away stray strands of fine, fiery red hair - hair that was clotted with the blood that coated most of his battered form. "You did very well," she urged as he continued to stare at the broken shards with pain-glazed eyes. "Now rest," she murmured as she slowly, almost gently moved her hands until her fingers were sliding into his head, a serene smile lifting her lips as she drank deeply and gave the boy the rest that he deserved.

* * *

"Anything?" Buffy asked as she hurried into the small, rustic living room of the cabin that they had been living in for the past week, her arms ladened with their heavy winter jackets and a few weapons.

"No, nothing," Harry stated grimly as he abandoned his efforts before the roaring flames in their small hearth, his green eyes darkening as he returned the small pouch of floo powder to the wooden mantle. "I couldn't see anyone at Sirius or Giles' flat, nor in Remus or Dumbledore's office. Not even a house elf!" he admitted as he quickly accepted his heavy, black leather jacket from Buffy's small hands and slid into the warm sleeves, his eyes skipping to the snow-covered world that was sparkling beneath the bright, morning sunshine. Buffy had said that they were in the Smokey Mountains, but that might as well have been Siberia for all he knew. After all, the only thing he ever saw outside of the magically sealed windows was trees, trees, and more trees - not to mention the feet of snow that seemed to be constantly falling from the gray, February skies.

Sighing, Harry turned his eyes away from the bright light that filtered through the window and froze as he incredulously watched as Buffy began stashing various knives and other weapons amongst the folds of her cargo pants and thick, turtleneck sweater. "What are you doing?" he asked as she quickly slid into her plump, white feather-down coat.

"Hey, Slayer motto: never go anywhere unarmed," she muttered as she zipped up the heavy coat - and then frowned as she noticed Harry's slowly shaking head. "What?"

"You're not coming with," Harry quickly returned, working on tuning her out even as he focused on the magical barriers and wards that surrounded their small cabin - and then shattered with a the slightest strain of his power. At least Voldemort had been good for something, as after all, the magic that he had inherited from the Dark Lord when he was nothing more than a baby, after combining with his own, really did come in handy every now and again.

"But-"

"I don't have time to argue this," Harry curtly stated, cutting her off mid-complaint as he leveled his green eyes upon her stiff form, her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest.

"And how do you expect to get there without me?" Buffy quickly returned as she arched a brow patiently at her boyfriend. "We don't have any portkeys, what with the apparent lack of trust that we wouldn't use them to escape our prison," she continued, obviously bitter about this point.

"I'll apparate," Harry quickly returned as he brushed past her and strode towards their small kitchen.

"Which might be kind of hard seeing as how you don't know where Cincinnati is, let alone Ohio," Buffy cut in as she stormed after him. And as Harry froze mid-step, Buffy knew that she had him. "You don't know where it is, do you?" she asked, her frown deepening as he seemed to stiffen, his back turned towards her. "Well it doesn't matter, because I do," she stated, her voice becoming gentle as she wrapped her arms behind him. "And you're right, you don't have time for this. And from the sounds of it, neither do Ron or Hermione. So why don't you let me drive for once and we can get there all the quicker?" she asked as she nuzzled her face against the soft leather that covered Harry's back. And as the tension seemed to drain out of Harry's body a moment later, Buffy knew that she had won.

Sighing, the small slayer closed her eyes as she felt Harry's magic brush against her before going within her, touching and pulling at the very thing that made up her slayerness, and she supposed, her keyness now as well. Arching her back, Buffy closed her eyes and pictured the Kenwood Towne Center in her mind, a luxurious mega-mall that she had visited with her mom a few years before being called as slayer. Back then she had been spoiled and fashion-obsessed, completely caught up in being a southern California girl... and oh how times had changed since that visit.

Within seconds Buffy felt the freezing cold bite of the early February wind, and as she slowly opened her eyes, she was faced with a multitude of stunned pedestrians, all crowded on the walk around them. "Um... good morning?" Buffy ventured weakly even as Harry quickly spun around, his hand wrapping around her arm as he quickly steered her through the thong of people and towards the sidewalk beyond.

"Gee, couldn't you think of anyplace any _more_ public?" Harry muttered beneath his breath as he quickly opened a taxi door and practically shoved Buffy in before him, ignoring the weakness that plagued his body from the long joint apparition.

"Now, now, Mister Potter," Buffy evenly returned as she attempted to straighten herself on the large backseat, all the while trying to figure out what the strange tinglings at the back of her mind were trying to tell her. "Sarcasm is hardly becoming of-"

"Adams Storage," Harry directed, cutting off Buffy's mild scolding as he slid in beside her, his eyes frantically taking in the world outside.

Muttering something about rude tourists, the driver took a moment to glare at his passengers before slowly pulling into traffic, his hand reaching for his handset before he began asking dispatch for directions. Meanwhile, Harry had no choice but to settle back against the cold leather seat, his troubled eyes sliding over the slow-moving traffic as the minutes slowly slipped by.

Sighing softly, Buffy bit back her baseless reassurances and instead slipped her small hand in his, her blonde head cradling against his chest while her eyes slid tiredly shut. They couldn't be too late. Not for Ron and not for Hermione. If so... she didn't know what she would do. What Harry would do. Stiffening, Buffy allowed the image of the tall red-head and his bushy-haired girlfriend float before her mind's eye. If something had happened to either of them, then it was her fault. All of it. She was the Key and... how had they even known about Hogwarts? She had almost come to expect an attack against Sunnydale, or even the Watcher's Council, but Hogwarts? Such a thing was impossible!

Frowning, Buffy allowed her thumb to trace meaningless patterns on the back of Harry's hand as her mind whirled with the implications. Something was wrong. Something was _ really_ wrong and whatever it was, it was making her slayer sense begin to tingle. But then even those thoughts were pushed to the side as Harry stiffened beneath her cheek. Glancing up, Buffy watched a frown play over his handsome features before she twisted, allowing her own green eyes to take in the dilapidated area of town that seemed to run against one bank of a wide, icy river. "Where are we?" she muttered, not quite realizing that she had spoken the question aloud until the driver met her eyes through his cracked rearview mirror.

"Warehouse district, Adams Storage," the man returned, his voice dry as the taxi drew to a stop before a large warehouse that stretched back to the river beyond, just as the gray skies finally opened up and began releasing the thick, heavy flakes that they had been holding.

Frowning, Buffy allowed her eyes to trail suspiciously over the building, her unease deepening as she noticed the sorry state of the buildings around it, and even more importantly, the fact that the place seemed absolutely deserted. "Harry-" she began, her question dying away as Harry frantically scrambled for his wallet, his fingers flailing and coming up empty as he realized that he had left it at the cabin in the rush to get going. 

Scowling, he quickly snagged an old dirty wrapper from the car floor and transfigured it into a few large bills before thrusting the money at the old, grizzled driver. Then, without even waiting for Buffy he was scooting out the door, his long legs quickly eating up the distance to the old storage facility. After all, while barely fifteen minutes had passed since Ron had contacted him using his godfather's mirror, to Harry, it felt as though a lifetime had already come and gone.

"Thank you," Buffy murmured, flashing a weak smile at the startled man as he stared incredulously at the ridiculously large tip Harry had just left him. Turning, she quickly slid across the seat and through the open door, her black boots crunching on a thin layer of freshly fallen snow as she closed the car door behind her - and frowned as the car sped away without even asking if he should wait. Rolling her eyes, Buffy turned and scanned the warehouse, looking for whatever was causing her senses to thrum with barely concealed danger - and freezing as they fell upon Harry's lanky form as he raced towards a familiar figure that was reclining against the building's outer wall.

"Ron!" Harry cried, his feet sliding across the thin layer of snow as he stumbled toward his friend. Yet the closer that he got, the slower that Harry found himself moving as his eyes took in his friend's bruised and bloody face, dark lashes resting against pale cheeks, the dark sweater that was obviously a creation of Mrs. Weasley - yet which looked almost wet and heavy beneath the heavy flakes - and the red blood that seemed to soak up the snow that fell from the heavens. "Ron?" he tried again, his voice a heartbroken croak as he fell numbly to his knees beside his best friend, one hand tentatively reaching forward to cup his friend's warm cheek in his hand.

With a soft sigh, Ron seemed to stir beneath the soft touch as the dark lashes slowly lifted to reveal glazed, hazel eyes. For a moment, they merely looked at Harry, his expression blank before slipping down to gaze, transfixed at the blood that stained his large hands. "All gone," he whispered, his voice a dry husk of its former rich tones. "All gone and run to play with the brooms. All gone now."

Feeling a sob choke in his throat, Harry felt the tears burn the corners of his eyes as he gently gathered his friend to him, cradling him against his chest as he bowed his head and rocked his oldest friend against him. As a soft hand fell upon his shoulder, he lifted tear-filled eyes to the small slayer that stood beside him, her horrified eyes locked on Ron's battered form as the red-head continued to prattle in his inane mumblings. "We were too late," Harry supplied simply, his words a hoarse whisper that were torn from a throat that was far, far too tight. Closing his eyes, he ignored the agony that was trying to consume him, instead trying to focus on how he was going to give the news to the Weasleys or... "Hermione," he quickly stated, his voice growing panicked as he looked wildly about them.

"I'll find her," Buffy promised, only too glad to be given a task - to be given _something_ to do. Straightening, she went to turn away - only to freeze as her senses alerted her to another's presence, just as a slender silhouette stepped out from behind the other side of the building. Hand instinctively reaching for one of her weapons, Buffy took a slow, measured step forward as she placed herself between the stranger and Harry and Ron - and then stilled her hand, suddenly unsure as she vaguely tried to make out the stranger through the thickly falling snow. The person was too short to be Dahmascus, yet he was undeniably male, which ruled out Serantine. However he was- "Bertrone?" Buffy murmured, Harry's head jerking up and looking past her as the French watcher finally came into view. "What are you doing here? Are the others-" she began, stepping towards him as he slowly drew his wand from his pocket.

"_Stupefy_," the man murmured, his voice hard and flat as the slayer collapsed into an unmoving heap before him. Sighing, he looked down at the girl's small body, her golden hair haloed around her slender form that was all but engulfed by the large jacket that she wore. Shaking his head, he slowly lifted his eyes to the dark-haired boy that had been too stunned to move from his red-haired friend's side. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that there's more than one Hellmouth?" he finally asked as he slowly placed his wand back in his coat pocket. "This one opened two years ago," he explained, almost absently as the shock was quickly replaced by anger and fear.

It was a trap. They had been led to the one place where wizarding magic could work on a Slayer, aside from the one place that Buffy would have never willingly ventured to. And now, because he had allowed Buffy to join him, she lay at the mercy of the man standing before them both - the one that had obviously betrayed them both. Hands tightening around Ron's traveling cloak, Harry quickly focused on the magic that was thrumming through his body even as he stretched his senses towards the bright core that was hidden within Buffy - and found himself almost painfully thrown back as, for the first time, he found himself denied entrance. Stunned, Harry merely blinked at her still form for a moment before understanding dawned with a sickening flash. After all, how could he expect Buffy to give him permission to pillage her slayer core, as she liked to call it, if she wasn't conscious to give it? And yet, without her help, it didn't matter if they were on the Hellmouth or not because there was no way to apparate them all out of there. He was going to be pushing it in the first place by trying to do so with Ron added along... but all three? It was impossible. Which meant that they were stuck, trapped and-

Head snapping around, Harry allowed his senses to fully open as the trickle of power he had felt slowly drew closer. Confused, the dark-haired wizard first drew his senses towards the French watcher that stood quietly before him, and curtly shaking his head, went past him. There was something out there - something so powerful that even Buffy herself seemed to pale in comparison. The air around him was practically humming with this energy and he idly wondered how he could have missed it before. It was almost as though he could feel tiny pricks of so many different kinds of power, but all merged into one. It was baffling, confusing and... and it was a Hell God. No, not one, but two. Stunned, Harry slowly released Ron from his death lock as he stumbled to his feet, his eyes staring past Bertrone and locking on the two shadowed figures that were slowly, inexorably making their way through the heavy snow and towards them all.

Understanding what had captured the boy's attention, Bertrone slowly, sadly nodded his head even as he reached into his coat pocket. "They are coming," he murmured, agreeing with the boy's unspoken thoughts and fears as the hero of his world seemed to stiffen, his face draining of color as he quickly closed his eyes, his face screwing up in concentration. A concentration that was hampered by the sharp click of the hammer on Bertrone's pistol as it was cocked into position, the small gun slipping free of its constraints. "And I am sorry," Bertrone added as he pulled the trigger, the sharp report of the gun echoing amongst the old buildings as the slug tore through the young wizard's abdomen and threw him back into the warehouse wall where he slowly slid to the snow-covered ground.

Gasping, Harry instinctively touched one hand against the fire that burned through his body, the hand coming away drenched in blood. Confused, he looked down and pressed his leather jacket against him, moaning softly as a stream of red seemed to pour from a small hole that marred the fine leather. Gasping as the thundering of his heart seemed to echo in the harsh stillness of the early morning, Harry slowly lifted his disbelieving eyes as the French watcher stepped over Buffy's prone form and knelt beside him.

"I never was much for dueling," he explained as the boy's confused eyes slowly locked on him and then closed, his face lining with concentration - only to quickly stiffen as a harsh, ragged breath was torn from his lips, his green eyes growing wide with pain. 

Biting back the agony that threatened to consume him, Harry leaned weakly against the building behind him. Apparently, after already being weakened from apparating to their location, in addition to the shock and blood loss that now plagued him - even Harry's magic was beyond his reach. And without his magic, that meant that he was powerless. Powerless to help Buffy, to save Ron, or even to save himself. "Why?" he gasped, his eyes turning back to the man that they had counted as an ally. A man that had just recently lost someone just as Harry had lost Ron.

"It's quite simple, actually," Bertrone returned quietly, his saddened gray eyes never straying from the boy's face even as the young man vainly tried to staunch the blood that was flowing from his wound. "It's truly amazing what a watcher would do for his slayer. Who'd they betray. And in the end, Dahmascus and Serantine said it best, for it truly is simple math: one slayer for another," he finished, a gentle hand falling on the boy's head before slowly turning back towards where the Hell Gods now gathered over the slayer's prone form.

"Lady and gentlemen, your Key," he intoned, his voice dry as he waved absently at the girl's small figure.

"So it would seem," Serantine agreed as Dahmascus gathered the girl's limp body in his arms.

Standing, the god turned and threw one last glance to the dark-haired boy and the red-head that babbled incoherently beside him. While the wizard's eyes never once strayed from the girl's small figure, his green eyes were slowly losing their fierce edge, only to be replaced by a pained weariness. He was bleeding too heavily, his wound too severe, and in the end, the hell god found that he didn't really care what happened to the boy, one way or the other. After all, they finally had what they had been looking for. Without a backward glance, Dahmascus moved until he was standing beside Serantine and allowed her hand to fall firmly upon his arm. And then, with the smallest tug behind his navel, they were gone. 

**To be continued...**


	18. Chapter 18

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 18"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: To start, an amazingly huge thank you to everyone that took the time to review with that last chapter!! I'm beyond pleased to hear that you guys still ARE out there and promise a quick update with proof of your continued existence!! And in this chapter... well, you all wanted to hear what happened to all of our favorite characters, didn't you? And Buffy's reaction... poor everyone. I'm so mean!

* * *

A numb silence had long ago fallen over the large, cluttered office - a silence that was broken only by the muffled sobs of one young witch as she sat huddled in the far corner, Professor McGonagall's meaningless platitudes whispering around the tomb-like room. Those gathered hailed from the different corners of the world, many of their faces streaked with drying tears or caked with flaking blood. Many sported wounds that had barely been tended to, while others openly wore their shock, horror, and above all else, their broken hearts for all to see. Instinctively they had begun to gather within minutes of the Hell Gods' departure from Hogwarts, using various portkeys to traverse the grand distances and to come upon the battlefield that now marred the castle's open courtyard. At first, each new arrival had been marked with surprise, but once all of the players had been gathered, the surprise had quickly been replaced with horror. A horror at the fact that no one had foreseen this. No one.

"It's as we feared," Giles stated, his sudden arrival causing more than one witch, wiccan, and muggle to jump in their seat as the watcher swept into the room, one hand absently fingering the thick gauze that was wound around his temple. "The wards are down and Buffy and Harry are no longer at the cabin," he continued, his voice grim as his eyes swept past many and landed on the aged Headmaster that sat behind his large desk.

"Dahmascus and Serantine?" Snape questioned, his silky voice low and troubled as he unconsciously straightened from his place in the shadows against one curved wall.

"No, Harry brought them down," Sirius replied as he shuffled slowly into the room behind the watcher, one arm wrapped loosely around his mending ribs even as Remus abandoned his chair to gently lead his friend over and push him into the soft fabric.

Sighing, McGonagall curtly shook her head, her small eyes flashing. "I do not understand any of this," she murmured, her voice hard and disapproving. "What happened?" she asked, her eyes straying to include everyone that was gathered in the room. And for a moment, it looked as though everyone was too stunned to try and answer before Willow slowly lifted her tear-stained face, her haunted eyes slipping past everyone until they fell upon the man that she and her friends had all come to see as a father in the past few years.

"We had no warning," she whispered, her face pale and covered with long, blood-crusted cuts that obviously hadn't been tended to in the hour or so since she had received them. "T-T-Tara and I, w-we heard something. It-It woke us up," she stammered as Giles slowly moved forward and knelt before the trembling girl, one hand gently closing around her own. "W-We went downstairs and s-s-saw Faith a-and Dahmascus... Giles, the house is gone," she murmured, tears trailing from her large green eyes. "H-He burnt it down and w-we just got out a-a-and Faith..." she stammered, a sob choking in her throat. "W-w-we fell out the window and-and-and Tara," she hiccupped, the tears coming harder. "T-Tara caught me. B-But not Faith. Faith fell and her-her-her head... it's broken," she stammered, even as Giles gently pulled the girl in a soft embrace, his expression grim.

"Willow?" he prompted, even as the warm tears soaked through his heavy sweater.

"Tara stayed there 'cuz Xander's in surgery," she continued, her words coming faster as she clung tightly to Giles. "He-he-he hurt his shoulder - p-pinned to a wall. And F-Faith is in a coma-"

"Again?" Giles murmured, pulling away and staring at the girl in shock.

"W-w-we didn't have any time. Everything happened so fast!"

"And She-Bitch must have hit us at the same time," Gunn added bitterly from his place against one wall, looking extremely ill at ease in the strange office, surrounded by even stranger people he had only met for the first time a few scant weeks ago.

"Is everyone alright?" Giles asked, his attention shifting to the dark-skinned young man that was sporting a blackening eye, an arm that was held against him in a hasty sling, and a large, blood-stained bandage over his neck.

"No, everyone isn't," Gunn returned, his expression dark. "Cordy's dead."

"WHAT?!?" Giles and Willow demanded at once, twin expressions of horror and grief for the fallen Scooby twisting their features even as the rest of the room looked on in quiet sympathy.

"The Bitch broke Cordy's back - paralyzed her, stabbed Wes, and then she drained Angel," Gunn summed up, the anger rolling off of him in waves that were so palpable that it was impossible for everyone _ not_ to sense his pain. "But she didn't take his brain," he added, his eyes narrowing as he thought back to the demon that had taken over his friend's body. "She took his soul."

"Angelus?" Giles breathed, unable to stop the shiver from rippling through his form. After all, while it had been close to three years since he had last encountered the master vampire, the memories of the torture that he had received at the vampire's hands were still far too near.

"He took me down," Gunn continued, his dark eyes narrowing as they fell upon his clenched fists, "and when I was out... Wesley said that he toyed with Cordy. Waited until she was conscious and knew what he was doing before he drained her."

"I-I-Is he dust?" Willow whispered, the tears trailing unnoticed now down her pale cheeks as the pain seemed to swell her heart until she thought that it would burst. First Xander and Faith, and now Cordy and Angel? If the pain didn't destroy them first, she knew that it would certainly kill Buffy when she finally learned of all that had happened. The girl carried the responsibility of the world on her shoulders as it was... but to learn of the death of so many that she loved?

"He should be," Gunn muttered, his features twisted and his fist clenching so tight that the wiccan was sure that she heard bones shifting. "He was about to do me too when the Host walked in, saw what was going down, and was able to get a tranq in 'im."

"The who?" Giles murmured absently, even as he vaguely tried to process everything that was happening far too quickly.

"The Host - Lorne. A good demon," Gunn explained as he waved away the man's question. "He's a friend and he... volunteered to baby-sit Angelus, who's locked down in the basement, until Wes gets out of the hospital."

"Good lord," Giles muttered, his hands absently reaching for his glasses even as his head swung helplessly towards the only other person that didn't quite belong in this setting. Almost wishing that he could avoid asking, he hesitantly nodded towards the tall, dark-haired man that looked so lost, his large brown eyes filled with a pain that was so poignant that it instantly tore at what remained of his battered heart. "Jarod?" he asked, his voice once more breaking the stillness as all eyes swung towards the pretender that suddenly looked far older, and at the same time, so very young for his age.

"They both came to the Centre," Jarod slowly returned, his brown eyes not truly seeing any of the strangers that surrounded him. "They killed... no," he murmured, the first kindling of anger beginning to burn in his normally gentle eyes. "They _ slaughtered_ sixteen of our people and... and they took something from Angela... from Parker." Closing his eyes, he slowly leaned forward as he pressed his long fingers against the sockets, willing back the tears that threatened to break free. "She's gone," he whispered, understanding all too well the truth behind his statement. After all, young Celeste had been a resident of the Centre for the past few weeks as he strove to find a cure for her madness, only to finally come to the sad conclusion that whatever was taken from the girl was something that he was powerless to return. And now the young French girl had gained a roommate in the form of the one person that meant more to the pretender than anyone else he had ever known.

"And then the gods traversed the Atlantic," Dumbledore sighed wearily from behind his desk, his blue eyes flat and filled with sorrow, "where they killed five people at the Council of Watchers, including Samuel Fellows, before coming to Hogwarts. Thankfully, Poppy reports that all that were injured here at the attack against the castle will heal with time, however, we are still short one wizard," he finished, his eyes falling on the desolate form of Hermione Granger as the young witch clung to her old head of house with trembling hands - yet even Hermione, a true Gryffindor, couldn't hide behind her tears forever.

Instead, the girl felt the weight of Dumbledore's stare upon her bent shoulders and with effort she slowly locked her sorrow and fear away as she straightened, her red-rimmed eyes locking with his. "How did this happen?" she asked, her voice low and steady as she held the headmaster's gaze before allowing it to slip past and rest on each witch, wizard, wiccan and muggle in turn. "How did they know _exactly_ where to hit us to hurt us the worst?" she asked as she pointedly looked once more to those that were gathered - those that represented the main groups that had gathered just a few short weeks ago. The ones that represented those that Buffy and Harry treasured the most. "They knew me. They knew Giles. They _had a portkey!_" she murmured, her voice turning cold and hard as she glared at all those present. "How could they have known this?"

"T-they moved so fast," Willow murmured, her eyes slowly lifting to meet those of the young witch. "By the time Tara and I were sure that we had done everything that we could for Xander and Faith, it was already too late. There wasn't time to pass on a warning... and we never thought that they would come to Los Angeles, or Delaware, or even Hogwarts. We didn't know."

"But somebody obviously did," Sirius murmured, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "They must have had inside help - help from someone that was close enough to-" he broke off as a shrill ringing echoed in the office. Confused, he and every other witch and wizard turned towards the noise and watched in puzzled confusion as Jarod instantly reached for a small, little black device.

"Wiccan enhancements," Jarod offered by way of explanation to the many startled glances he was receiving as he nodded towards Willow, even as he was flipping open the small phone. "Found something?" he asked, getting straight to the point as his eyes drifted around the room until they landed on Hermione's pale and trembling form. "Where?" he asked, his voice becoming strained. "Got it," he finally murmured before clicking the phone shut. "Broots just tracked a 911 call that came in for someone carrying Ron's ID."

"Where?" Sirius returned, even as Hermione's strained whimper escaped from the hand that was clamped over her lips.

"Cleveland, Ohio-"

"The second Hellmouth," Giles cut in, his face paling as the implications immediately became clear to everyone in the room.

"He and a John Doe are being brought to Mercy Medical Hospital in Cleveland," Jarod added even as the room erupted in chaos. Within moments Dumbledore had created two small portkeys and seconds later the most unusual group of all disappeared from the headmaster's office: a watcher, an ex-wizarding convict, a young witch, a pretender and a werewolf.

* * *

Stumbling slightly as her feet once more found solid ground and as the insistent tug at her navel disappeared, Hermione bumped shoulders with Sirius and Remus even as her red-rimmed hazel eyes took in the cold sunshine that burned over the snow-covered world they had been thrust in. Breath frosting before her, the young witch unconsciously wrapped her arms around her waist as she watched muggles stroll past their shadowed location, oblivious to the strangers that now walked in their midst as they bustled towards the large doors that fronted the impressive hospital.

"The rest of you should be alright, but I'm going to need some scrubs," Jarod stated quietly, more to himself than the others as Hermione idly glanced down at the sweater and pants the older man sported. Like the rest of them, his clothes were stained with blood and filth... the blood of friends and loved ones.

Wiping angrily at the tears that continued to burn her swollen eyes, Hermione turned away as Remus hurriedly transfigured the man's clothes into a pair of green doctor's scrubs that matched those that could be seen through the foggy glass. She was a sore and aching wreck, having refused Madam Pomfrey's healing touch. How could she seek aid when Ron's fate was still uncertain? And yet, with her face bruised and swollen, and with Giles' head swathed in blood-stained bandages, and Remus and Sirius more bruised than not, she still knew enough to realize that in a hospital, their appearance would hardly be noted. At least, not any more than any other patient that came to the building in seek of aid. However they didn't seek aid... they sought Ron. Ron and whomever had accompanied him... and most importantly, they sought him whole and sound. She couldn't handle losing someone else. She couldn't handle Ron sharing the fate of the flippant, loud-mouthed American girl or Samuel Fellows, a man that had become a good friend and employer in the past year. But most of all.. she couldn't handle the thought of life without the boy that had started out as her tormentor, evolved into one of her best friends, and then swiftly took a hold of her heart until he became her past, her present, and most importantly, her future.

"Let's go," Jarod muttered, interrupting her thoughts as he led she and her ragtag companions from their spot in the shadows and out into the sun. Immediately they became swept up in the mass of people that became funneled through the double doors and then into the massive hospital lobby. Confused, Hermione felt strangers jostle by her before Remus' firm hand folded around her shoulder as he gently steered her away from the crush of people and off to the side where Giles and Sirius were gathered.

"Where's Jarod?" she murmured, unconsciously taking a step closer to the older men, each a person that she had come to love and respect over the years. Remus had been her teacher, Sirius had been their protector, and Giles had become her co-worker. After narrowly escaping death by the hands of a hell God within the past hour, such a small comfort was something that she found herself craving intensely.. especially when Ron's fate was still so uncertain.

"Right here," Jarod replied as he joined their little group, his brown eyes continually moving around the bustling lobby. "I found out that they took the John Doe to surgery and Ron is in a room down the hall," he stated as he began leading the way through the masses of people and then down a wide, brightly lit hallway.

"Surgery?" Sirius returned as he hurried to catch up to the pretender. "What does that mean?" the dark-haired wizard continued, his face growing pale as they continued down the twisting hallway. After all, while no one had spoken the words aloud, it was obvious what everyone was thinking - who everyone instinctively knew this 'John Doe' to be. And while Sirius knew perfectly well what wizarding surgery was, he had heard only vague rumors and ghost stories about what such a thing meant for muggles.

Yet whatever response that the pretender may have given went unheard as they stopped before an open doorway, Hermione's eyes immediately sliding past the sterile walls and hangings and landing on the young man with fiery red hair that was lying on a long white bed, large men dressed in white struggling against his feeble movements. "Ron!" she gasped, tears instantly flooding her eyes as she hurried past the others and began pushing the strangers aside. "Oh God, Ron, what did they do to you?" she gasped as she finally cleared a way to his bedside, her large, tearful eyes taking in the bruises that marred his freckled face, one eye practically swollen shut, and the blood that trailed down from a swollen lip.

"We've got it covered," Jarod quickly added as he and the others followed the young witch into the room, the three wizards pushing the orderlies to the side as they flanked the young Gryffindor.

"Who are you?" one of the orderlies demanded as he wiped away a thin trickle of blood from a small cut on his cheek.

"A visiting physician," Jarod calmly returned as Ron's weak struggles began to slow as Hermione's soothing murmurings seemed to penetrate whatever pained haze had caused the young man to lash out. "We have it," he repeated, gently stressing the word as he nodded pointedly towards the door.

"You can have him," the angry man quickly stated as he and his co-workers began backing towards the door. "Crazy nut - he's your problem now," he added before storming out the door.

Ignoring the muggle's angry words and even the friends that surrounded her, Hermione gently ran a loving hand through Ron's matted hair, tears streaming down her cheeks as she quickly bent down and pressed a kiss against his forehead. "Ron, what were you thinking?" she murmured, her hands shaking as she went about smoothing the sweater that he wore, frowning at the rips in the heavy fabric. "You shouldn't have done that," she continued, admonishing him softly around her hiccups as she tried to convince her heart that her love was alright. That he hadn't been killed. That he-

"So pretty... so pretty...."

Confused, Hermione slowly pulled away as she stared at her boyfriend, her red-rimmed eyes narrowing. "Ron? What are you on about?" she asked, her words so softly spoken as his head slowly turned until his one beautiful eye was settled upon her, a stupid grin lifting his bloody lips.

"So pretty... so very pretty," he repeated before reaching up and patting the top of her head.

Shaking her head slowly, Hermione felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach as she felt all of the air leave her in one terrible blow. Frozen, she could only stare at Ron in horrified confusion as Jarod slowly moved beside her, one large hand cupping Ron's chin and forcing him to turn towards the pretender. 

Sighing, the older man quickly shook his head as he gently released the young wizard, his eyes falling down to his tightly clenched hand. "I'm sorry," he whispered, instantly recognizing what had happened to the brave boy. And as the young, auburn-haired witch began to sob brokenly from beside him, he knew that she, too, understood the fate that had fallen upon Ron. She understood what had been taken from Ron Weasley - and what could never be given back.

Murmuring soothing platitudes, Remus slowly stepped beside the heartbroken girl and pulled her into his warm embrace. Shaking his head slowly, he allowed his gray eyes to fall upon his former student as tears burned in his own eyes. Seven years... Ron had survived seven years of mishap and danger while at Hogwarts. He had survived the war and Voldemort... only to be lost a few scant months later at the hands of a god. And this time, Ron had gone willingly in order to save the one that he loved most.

"Who are you?"

Startled, everyone turned towards the open door where a young, unformed police officer stood, his eyes warily taking in the small, unkempt group. "They're friends of the patient," Jarod smoothly explained, even as his sorrowed brown eyes fell upon the sobbing young witch.

Following his gaze, the cop's expression instantly softened as he took in the heartbroken young woman. "Poor kid," he sighed, awkwardly shaking his head as he glanced towards the battered patient. "Something's wrong with his head," he added, instantly wishing he could take back his words as the girl's cries seemed to intensify even as the gray-haired man shot him a dark look.

"Did you find a girl as well?" Giles quickly asked as he slowly stepped towards the cop, his eyes hopeful. "About five feet, two inches, blonde, green eyes... real small?" he continued, his voice breaking away as the man slowly shook his head.

"I'm sorry. We just found the two boys."

"The other boy," Sirius quickly cut in, his eyes frantic, "is he alright?"

Once more, the only thing the officer could do was slowly shake his head. "Last I heard, they were taking him up to surgery. He had a gunshot sound to the abdomen," he explained as the blue-eyed man's knees seemed to buckle beneath him even as the other man with the glasses struggled to support him. "They... they're not sure if he's going to pull through."

"Harry," Sirius gasped, finally voicing his fears aloud. After all, who else could Ron's companion have been? The coincidences were too great. Ron was taken, and by the time anyone thinks to contact Harry and Buffy, the cabin had been abandoned and the two were gone. Then Ron turns up with another young man... Harry. "We need to get him back to Hogwarts. Now," he stated, his energy returning as he ignored the cop's confusion and quickly turned back to the hospital bed where Ron was beginning to become agitated by Hermione's broken sobs.

Nodding swiftly, Remus gently disentangled Hermione from the front of his robes and gently passed her off to Jarod. Turning, he then looked sadly at his former student, the young Weasley's babbling beginning to echo in the small room as he began to rock back and forth on the bed. "I'm sorry," he murmured as he lifted his wand, his sad eyes locked on the boy, "but this will make it easier on all of us," he added as he slowly waved his wand. "_Stupefy_."

As Ron flopped back on the white bed, his cries finally falling silent, Giles quickly stepped forward and gently pulled the boy forward until he was draped over one shoulder. Grunting, he slowly straightened, ignoring his aching body's protests as he turned towards the door - where the cop was now staring at them in growing confusion and alarm, his hand already reaching for his sidearm.

"_Stupefy_," Sirius muttered, stunning the muggle before he could harm himself or anyone else. With Remus' help, the two wizards quickly caught the man and gently pulled him to the side where they deposited him on the other side of the room, hidden from the open door. "Jarod, where's this surgery?" he asked as he quickly straightened and followed the pretender into the hallway, Remus, Hermione, and Giles with Ron quickly on their heels.

"This way," the pretender murmured as he swiftly moved down the wide hall, leading his procession that was gaining more attention by the moment. After all, his companions were all now openly displaying their wands, Hermione included, and when that was combined with Giles' awkward burden and their bruised, bloody, and overall battered state, it was nearly impossible _not_ to garner unwanted attention. Nonetheless, no one tried to stop them as they quickly made their way through the crowded hospital, Jarod navigating the unfamiliar hallways with ease as he followed the posted signs this way and that until, finally, they pushed through the double doors that were marked 'surgery.'

"Excuse me! You can't-"

Ignoring the muggle woman that was anxiously trying to bar their way, Sirius pushed past her as his eyes swept the wide glass that looked into the many different rooms that branched off from the main room that they had entered. "Harry," he murmured, his voice a whispered plea that was torn from his throat as his blue eyes locked on a familiar lock of unruly black hair that was all but hidden by a man in a nearby room. Hurrying forward, the ex-prisoner burst through the doors, his eyes sweeping past gleaming silver trays that sported so many different sharp knives and tubing that Sirius felt the color drain from his face. It almost looked as though he had stumbled upon a torture chamber.

"Gerroff!" a scratchy, familiar voice whispered fiercely from the bed before him as pale hands struggled against the mask that was being forced over his face.

"Son, we need you out for the-" the man cut off as he was roughly shoved to the side as Sirius quickly took his place.

"Harry?" he quickly murmured, his eyes taking in the familiar face of his godson, brilliant green eyes staring bleakly from a face that was far too pale. "Harry, answer me," he ordered as his eyes swept down to take in the bandages that were pressed against his godson's bared abdomen - bandages that were already soaked with his godson's blood.

"Sirius?" Harry murmured, obviously confused as his eyes squinted, trying to make out the blurry image above him.

Practically sagging against the bed as he realized that for whatever reason, his godson had been spared from having whatever had been taken from Ron, taken from him as well, Sirius smiled through his tears. "I'm right here," he murmured, his voice choked as Jarod cursed quietly from beside him. Turning, he watched as the pretender hurriedly tried to staunch the bleeding even as Remus quickly banished the rest of the people from the room, placing a locking charm on the door even as the others crowded around the narrow gurney. "You're going to be just fine. We're taking you-"

"Buffy," Harry gasped, his eyes squeezing shut as the pain seemed to intensify, robbing him of his breath and causing him to gasp for air. "French watcher-"

"Bertrone?" Giles supplied, cautiously stepping closer even as his features began to tighten, all of the pieces beginning to fall into a nasty place.

"Took her," Harry sighed, even as the pain began to color the edges of his vision black. "Couldn't-"

"Shh, it'll be okay, Harry, we'll get her back," Sirius promised even as Giles began to curse the French watcher's name in so many languages and so colorfully that the wizard was sure that even he would have had cause to blush. Then again, with his godson's blood practically pouring from the wound that someone had inflicted upon the boy that had long ago taken the place of the son he had never had, he found himself agreeing wholeheartedly with the watcher's sentiments. But then even that grim thought was forgotten as Harry's eyes fluttered for a moment before slowly sliding shut, his dark lashes a stark contrast against his pale cheeks as his breathing became shallow. "Jarod?" he demanded, his eyes growing wide as he quickly turned to the pretender for answers - answers that he was almost afraid to hear.

"We need to do this fast," Jarod quickly returned, his eyes narrowed upon the boy's pale features. "I think the bullet may have hit his liver and he's already lost too much blood... he's fading fast," he admitted, his voice grim as he raised his eyes to meet Sirius' haunted blue eyes.

Feeling as though someone had seized his heart in a strong metal vise and was slowly squeezing it for all they were worth, Sirius numbly nodded his head. "Poppy can heal him. Poppy can heal him," he murmured, unsure who exactly he was trying to convince with his quiet mantra. Moving slowly and with great care, he gently slipped one arm beneath his godson's broad shoulders, the other sliding beneath his knees, and then gently cradled the young man in his arms. "Poppy can heal him," he murmured again and again, trying to lift his voice above Harry's pained cry as Jarod moved around the blood, his blood-stained hands pushing down on the wound. "Poppy can heal him," he repeated again, refusing to look away from Harry's still features as the others quickly gathered around him. "Poppy can heal him," he stated one last time, his words a choked plea as they activated the portkey and disappeared with a swirl of bright colors just as a security team rushed in behind them.

* * *

Moaning softly, Buffy felt the darkness that had encased her for so long suddenly be ripped away, her senses coming alive in a rushing torrent that was almost dizzying to the small slayer. Confused, she lay perfectly still, her lungs barely contracting around the shallow breaths that she took as she tried to sort through the overwhelming information that assaulted her bewildered mind. After all, this awakening was unlike any form of unconsciousness that she had ever before experienced. For one thing, she didn't hurt. Usually, a return to the conscious world was always accompanied by some ache or another, usually centering around her head and the injury that brought about her unconsciousness in the first place. But this time.. this time there was nothing. 

Then there was always the small matter of the extremely hard floor that was pressing uncomfortably against her back, the cold seeping through the gritty cement and chilling her bared flesh - which was another thing. Last she remembered she had been dressed for the cold winters of the Smokey Mountains, yet while she could feel the familiar press of her cargos around her hips and legs, the sweater and jacket she had been wearing were most definitely missing, and it seemed that only her thin cotton tank had remained. When she added that little fact to the uncomfortable way her body seemed glued to the floor, the dank, musty smell of a building which hadn't seen life in far too long, and the soft murmuring of unfamiliar voices around her... well, it certainly left more unexplained than not.

"I thought that you said you could wake her," a soft, beautifully feminine voice stated - one that caused the fine hairs on Buffy's arms to tingle.

"I did and she is," a familiar French voice stated, its tone brusque and frosty. "From her reaction, I'm guessing that she has never before been stunned."

Stunned. She had been stunned. By Celeste's watcher. In Cleveland. With Harry.

"Harry," Buffy gasped, her eyes instantly opening as she struggled against whatever force pinned her to the ground. Green eyes growing wide, Buffy frantically turned her head one way and then another, taking in the barren room with a passing glance before narrowing upon Dahmascus, Serantine, and Robert Bertrone. "Where are Harry and Ron? What's going on?" she demanded, her voice hard as she continued to struggle against her invisible bonds, only to become disheartened as her limbs seemed to jerk slightly in response to her frantic movements.

"So she is," Dahm agreed, smiling slightly as he settled his gaze briefly on the seething slayer even as he gracefully moved towards a table that was pressed against a far wall.

"Where are Harry and Ron?" Buffy repeated, feeling her anger build as the god ignored her - and feeling her anger swell around her fear as the dark-haired god casually lifted a long ceremonial dagger before moving back and kneeling absently beside her.

"So the monks really put the key in the slayer?" he asked as he idly twirled the dagger in one hand, Buffy's eyes unwillingly tracing the gleaming blade's every move.

"Evidently," Ser agreed as she knelt opposite of Dahm, her eyes narrowing as they swept over her prone form. "I can almost see it inside of her, just waiting to come out."

"Come out?" Buffy murmured, instantly knowing that she didn't like the sound of that. And as Dahmascus began to casually toss the twirling dagger back and forth between his beautiful hands, the slayer found her eyes slowly slipping shut as she tried to calm her ragged breathing. They were tormenting her. Playing with her. 

Then again, what could you expect from a pair of Hell Gods? Crackers and tea? Not likely. Besides, it wasn't as though they were the first to have ever held her at a disadvantage as they played up their hand for all they were worth. No, she had experienced five months of such cruelty when she was in the hands of the Centre. She had borne this before and she could do it again.

"Blood, do you think?" Dahm questioned as he deftly caught the handle of the blade in one hand and drove it expertly into Buffy's side before she even had a chance to catch her breath or prepare herself for the pain - and pain there was.

Feeling her breath forcefully driven from her lungs in an arc of agony, Buffy's eyes pinched shut as her fair features twisted into a grimace of pain. Unbidden, tears burned at her eyes, wetting her lashes as she muffled the sobs that threatened to break free. She was sure that she had received more grievous wounds during her time as slayer - wounds far more threatening and painful... but damn if she could think of any at the moment. Actually, Buffy was quickly realizing that thinking at all was becoming near impossible as the pain seemed to cause an alarming weakness to spread through her paralyzed limbs.

"You didn't hit anything vital, did you?" Serantine asked, her muffled voice creeping through the pain as she felt warm fingers rub along the blade that was buried in her side before slowly pulling away.

Gasping through the pain, Buffy watched through watery eyes as Dahm carefully eyed the wet blood that stained his fingertips, a frown pulling at his features. But as another wave of pain rocked her small body, Buffy quickly turned her attention to the goddess that slowly pulled the beautiful dagger from her side, a wet sucking noise echoing grossly from the open wound, and tossed it absently to the ground beside her. Then, frowning thoughtfully the fiery-haired demon leaned forward and inspected the bloody mess before slowly, torturously digging her fingers into the stab wound.

Practically gagging around the pain that caused darkness to blur her vision, Buffy wanted nothing more than to scream her agony aloud as her finger nails clawed at the cold cement beneath her. But both of these desires were robbed from her by the heaving breaths her lungs fought for and by the heavy press of whatever spell locked her body to the floor. But then, even the need to breathe seemed unimportant in comparison to the words the gods spoke.

"No, the energy isn't in her blood," Ser murmured, shaking her head slowly as she looked down at the panting girl in confusion.

"Then where is it?" Dahmascus snapped, his patience obviously waning.

"Someplace... you'll never get it," Buffy gasped, her watery green eyes narrowed fiercely upon the duo even as a wave of dizziness caused the room to tilt around her.

"Where?" Dahm demanded as he glowered at the small girl.

"I'll never tell," she quickly sing-songed back, a hiccupped laugh causing her features to crease in pain even as she grinned idiotically at her own miniature pop-culture reference. Not that the Hell Gods would get it.. then again, the bad guys _never_ got the references that she always quipped them with. Besides, it wasn't exactly as though this was a monumental stride in quippage... although, she figured that she had to get _some_ points for the fact that the quip was even made, what with the whole deep stab wound in her side.

Drawn back from her rambling musings by a loud, inarticulate cry of vexation, Buffy watched through pain-glazed eyes as Dahmascus rose from beside her and stalked from the room. Smirking despite her pain, she allowed herself to revel in this small victory - until the soft caress of warm skin upon her cheek drew her wandering attention to the beautiful goddess that continued to rest at her side. Sighing, she noted the pinched lines of the woman's steely gray eyes and the full lips that were set in an unforgiving line. "I'll never tell," Buffy repeated, stifling a pained moan as the hurt radiated through her body.

"As with your friends," Serantine returned, a slow smile pulling at her lips as Buffy's fight with the darkness was instantly forgotten.

"My.. my friends?" she stammered, her unwavering attention focused on the cold glimmer in the red-head's eyes.

"Oh yes. Your friends never spoke either - yet their refusal bought them naught save pain, death, and loss," she murmured, her smile lifting as Buffy's head slowly, inexorably began to turn back and forth in desperate denial. "Dahm spoke of the dark-haired male in Sunnydale - the one that he skewered to the wall of a burning home," she murmured, almost casually as Buffy felt her stomach tighten as though she had been punched.

Xander.

"He also spoke of the red-haired witch and the dark-haired slayer that fell from a second-story window and the remaining witch that burned with the other," she continued as Buffy's physical pain was quickly replaced by the agonizing pain in her heart.

Faith.

Willow.

Tara.

"I, myself, released the true demon from his cage in the City of Angels and left him to feed on his mortal companions - the vampire who will forever be without a soul."

Angel.

Cordelia.

Wesley.

Gunn.

"In Delaware we killed many and took from the woman that was said to have run the complex, while at the Council and the magic school we killed and maimed many, including the head Watcher as well as the man that was said to be your own."

Jarod.

Miss Parker.

Samuel Fellows.

Dumbledore, McGonagall, Hagrid, Snape, Remus, Sirius, Hermione... _Giles_.

"And in Cleveland... you saw what we did to your red-haired friend," Serantine continued, her smile turning obscene as Buffy's eyes slipped shut - a single tear tracing down her cheek.

Ron.

"And as for the boy that was with you... what was his name again? Henry?"

"Harry," Buffy corrected despite herself as the vise tightened around her heart until she could feel nothing, see nothing, and feel nothing beside the pain that had become her entire existence.

"Apparently not even a wizard can truly avoid a bullet," Serantine murmured, her final blow to the small slayer as she absently climbed to her feet and slipped from the room. They would have to return before long to see that their Key didn't bleed to death, but until then the goddess was content with the damage that she had wrought.

Her friends. Her _family_. Attacked, hurt and destroyed.

For her.

To protect her.

Gone.

**To be continued...**


	19. Chapter 19

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 19"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: Okay, show of hands please! Who all wanted answers?? *counting beneath breath* Okay.. ran out of fingers and toes. Eh... we'll just say a lot. Thus, I now give you the Chapter of Answers... well, at least it's a start! ;p Please enjoy and _please review!_ Okay, that's it. Read away!

* * *

With slow, measured steps, the lean, dark-haired wizard slowly moved up the carved stone stairs, one hand trailing heavily upon the stone railing beside him even as the other traced along the inside wall for balance, two voices echoing down the circular staircase from above. It had been a week since Harry had been shot by Bertrone. A week of foul smelling and even worse tasting potions, complicated spells, and the very slow healing that worked to mend the extensive damage that a single bullet had wrought. When he had awoken for the first time only a few days ago, Madam Pomfrey was still raging against the crude and barbaric muggle device that was capable of causing such damage - damage that had nearly cost Harry his life. Not that such a thing seemed to matter when everything had come rushing back, and when Harry realized for the first time what he had lost. What they had all lost, from allies, to friends, to loved ones. In the course of one hour, their world had been turned upside down as eighteen people were injured, six critically so, twenty-two were killed, and three more were lost to them forever. All of them martyrs for a cause that hadn't been theirs because of the betrayal of one of their own.

Forty-three martyrs and victims.

Forty-three friends and allies.

Lovers.

Ron's mind was damaged beyond repair and Buffy was gone, both taken from him when he had been struck down without mercy and leaving him alone when surrounded by so many. In the days since he had awoken, his visitors had been many and he had never truly been alone with his grief and failure until now - and it was an opportunity that he wasn't going to look past. Thus, with Madam Pomfrey occupied with the many other patients that filled her wing - all professors from years past - Harry had quickly dressed and made his escape to the one place where he could hopefully find the answers to which he had been previously denied.

"Harry! What are you doing out of bed?"

Startled, the young wizard was forced from his musings as he belatedly realized that he had already reached the stair's end, Dumbledore's heavy oak door standing open before him and revealing his godfather and the aged headmaster within the large office. Groaning silently about his luck, Harry hastily withdrew his hand from the banister and cautiously stepped forward. It would figure that the one person that he had been trying to avoid - the one that had been all too willing to enforce the medi-witch's strict ban on leaving his hospital bed - would be the person that had been embroiled in a conversation with the headmaster that he had so obviously interrupted. "I'm getting answers," Harry replied, his voice holding a strength that his body didn't share as one hand absently strayed to the healing wound that was violently protesting his long climb up the stone staircase. It wasn't _his_ fault that the stairs were already in place. After all, it wasn't as though he had particularly _enjoyed_ the climb.

"Harry, Poppy said that you aren't to be out of bed," Sirius quickly admonished as his long strides ate up the distance between them, one strong hand wrapping around his godson's upper arm as he quickly steered him towards a nearby chair.

"Yes, well Madam Pomfrey is an overbearing-"

"Harry!" Sirius cut in before his godson could finish his angry retort, a small, disapproving frown pulling at his lips. After all, it didn't matter if Sirius himself had called the medi-witch things much worse than whatever colorful adjective his godson had been about to say. All that mattered was that Harry, a notoriously poor patient as it was, had been grievously injured and had hovered on the brink of death for days. In his eyes, Poppy had performed a miracle when she had saved his godson's life, and if she declared that bed rest was needed, he was going to do everything in his power to ensure that bed rest was indeed what Harry received. Not that such a thing had been easy, as was evidenced by the teen that sat before him, not looking repentant in the least.

"Sirius, I'm wounded, not incompetent," Harry quickly returned as he scowled at his godfather. "And I think that I deserve to know what's going on. For example, where _is_ everyone?" he continued, turning so that his glare encompassed the headmaster as well.

Blue eyes twinkling mischievously, Dumbledore slowly nodded his head. "Then answers you shall have," he stated, his moustache twitching as Sirius leveled a fierce glare at him even as Harry seemed to sag back against the plump cushions of his chair. And while the headmaster wanted nothing more than to benignly ask to which everyone Harry was referring, he quickly decided that a much safer response would be to simply tell the boy as to the current location of the everyone that referred to him. "Of those from Sunnydale, Miss Evans has not yet woken, which has left Miss Rosenberg, Miss MacClay, and Mister Harris with the duty of controlling the Hellmouth until the fourth slayer clears Customs with her watcher. In Los Angeles, Mister Wyndham-Price and Mister Gunn are reportedly suffering from a similar problem while also trying to find a way to restore Angelus to his souled state - a problem that has been magnified by the fact that without their Champion, they have been unable to receive their usual guidance from their Powers That Be. Meanwhile, Miss Granger and the rest of the Weasley family have temporarily relocated to the Centre to be with young Mister Weasley... which should account for everyone, outside of those who are teaching in the places of our absent faculty," he finished as he smiled gently at the recent Hogwarts graduate.

"Not everyone," Harry sighed, his eyes slipping shut as he absently ran a hand over his pale features. "So who's looking for Buffy?" he finally asked, his green eyes slowly opening to stare at the man who was supposed to have all of the answers.

"We all are in our every available moment," Dumbledore returned as he gently opened his hands to encase him and everyone who couldn't be with them now. "The Gods dealt us a terrible, terrible blow, and our efforts have been hindered by how divided we have become."

"But we _are_ looking," Sirius added as he timidly smiled down at his godson, wishing to somehow bring a smile back to Harry's long features. To somehow be able to return the sparkle to his emerald eyes. But he couldn't do that anymore than he could promise that everything was going to be alright. How could he when that was something that not even Dumbledore could promise?

"And how do you know that we're not already too late?" Harry asked, his voice a mere whisper as he stared dejectedly down at the hands that were clenched in his lap before him.

"Because, quite simply, the world has not yet ended."

Startled, Harry turned as fast as his injury allowed him as he looked to the stranger that stood in Dumbledore's open doorway. A stranger that was, oddly enough, dressed in long breeches, a strange tunic, and leather armor - a strange tattoo adorning his high forehead. "Who are you?" he asked, forgetting the manners that had been drilled into him by his aunt from a very young age. After all, what were manners in times like these?

"This is General Gregor," Giles stated as he slipped into the room behind the middle-aged man. "Of the Knights of Byzantium," he added, a small smile lifting his lips as everyone instantly straightened, eyes locked on the new man. "Apparently, the Knights of Byzantium have been aware of our actions for quite a while now. They had been tracking the Gods all along in hopes of being led to the monks."

"Unfortunately, the hell spawn reached the Brotherhood before we did," Gregor admitted with a hard frown, his voice a deep baritone. "We have since been watching those located on the Hellmouth where... recent 'actions' have led us to step forward," he continued, his frown becoming even more pronounced. "For the abominations are truly becoming desperate if they no longer worry about the attention that they have garnered."

"Yes, well," Giles continued as he awkwardly reached for his glasses, "they, uh, contacted Willow, who in turn referred them to me."

Nodding slowly, Dumbledore took in the stranger that stood before him, the proud man easily returning his thoughtful inspection, before waving his hand towards an empty armchair. "And General Gregor," he began, his words unusually soft, "what did you want, exactly, with the brotherhood?"

"Not the brotherhood," Gregor corrected as he accepted the invitation and sank into the surprising depths of the strange chair, "the Key." And as a heavy silence fell upon the room, he slowly lifted his eyes from the chair and nodded back towards the men that gathered around him. "The Key is the link; the link must be severed; such is the will of God," he recited, the familiar chant falling from his lips as the dark-haired youth straightened in his chair beside him.

"You want to kill Buffy," Harry stated, his words soft as his green eyes narrowed upon the man.

"No," Gregor countered, his cold eyes meeting those of the youth, "we wanted to destroy the Key."

"Well in case no one has told you yet, the Slayer _is_ the Key," Harry snapped, trying to rise from the chair even as Sirius pushed him back.

Frowning at the boy's tone, Gregor quickly shook his head. "Of that we are certainly aware. However, if what Mr. Giles has said is correct, then it seems that we are already too late as the abominations are already in possession of their Key. And time is running out."

Shaking his head, long black hair slapping at his unshaven cheeks, Sirius lowered himself into a vacant chair with an exaggerated sigh. "Okay, but what _is_ the key? What does it do?" he asked, his blue eyes staring pointedly at the stranger.

For a moment, it looked as though the man wasn't going to answer as he shrewdly eyed his companions. Four men, all very different and yet all conveying some kind of power. Yet the strangest part was that it was the youngest of them all that seemed to possess the most - as well as the one that seemed to be restraining himself from doing something very violent if he didn't get his answers soon enough. Sighing, he wearily nodded his acceptance. If answers were what they wanted, then it was answers that they would receive. "The Key is living energy that was created to open the doorways between dimensions," the general returned as he slowly reclined back in his chair. "When activated and channeled at a specific time and place, the walls between all dimensions, hell and otherwise, will break down."

"Good lord," Giles breathed, his face draining of color as he heavily lowered himself into a vacant chair, his eyes growing wide. While they had always speculated that the Key had to be powerful and capable of _something_, he had never truly imagined _this_.

"Yes," Gregor agreed, his smile grim. "It will create hell on Earth as dimensions will pour into one another with no barriers to stop them. Reality as we know it will be destroyed and chaos will reign on earth."

"Oh," Sirius muttered, his face completely blank.

"And while the brotherhood sought to prevent this from happening by harboring and protecting the key," he continued, "my brethren and I have sought to destroy it." For a moment more, he paused in his explanation as he once more regarded his companions, as though sizing up how they were receiving his news. And, apparently deciding that he liked what he saw, he nodded his head once more before continuing. "Originally the Brotherhood of Dagon and the Knights of Byzantium were one and the same. Our founders were the sons of the Earl of Devon of England, Richard and Edward Courtenay, and both were there the day that Dahmascus and Serantine first entered our world, born as they were into the bodies of their twin brother and sister. They were also present on the day, two months later, when Dahmascus and Serantine broke free of their mortal prison by stealing from the brothers' mother and father, taking that from them which can never be returned," he said, his words solemn as Harry openly blanched at his description - at his confirmation of what had been done to his best friend. "Three years later the brothers went their separate ways. Our founder, Edward Courtenay, believed that the Key should be destroyed, while his brother, Richard Courtenay believed that it was to be protected and somehow used to undo all that had been done. Obviously, Richard was able to find the Key before Edward or the gods, and he and his descendents, his brethren and followers, have guarded it ever since."

"Until they poured it into Buffy," Harry corrected, his expression grim.

"Yes," Gregor agreed, his eyes falling upon the youth once more. "You see, Dahmascus and Serantine hate only one thing more than they hate each other, and that's Glorificus, the Goddess that banished them to our world. As a result, for centuries they have worked independently of one another, continually learning about our world even as they searched for the Key that had been entrusted to the Brotherhood of Dagon. Yet separated as they were, their arrogance was their undoing as the Brotherhood was able to avoid them both. After all, Dahmascus and Serantine believed that they had centuries to find the Key and thus it was centuries that they wasted in their lackadaisical pursuit of that which they required. In recent times, however, desperation has driven them to form an uneasy alliance as they united under the banner of their hatred for Glorificus - which is what drove the Brotherhood to a final act of desperation."

"Buffy," Harry sighed, his eyes slowly slipping shut as he felt his heart clench painfully at the man's words.

Sending the young wizard a sympathetic glance, Giles slowly rose from his chair and began to absently pace along the large chamber, his footsteps echoing hollowly off of the stone floor. While his heart ached with the thought that his slayer was missing and in the hands of the two beings that had brought so much destruction down upon their heads, his mind was already whirling with the possibilities and implications behind General Gregor's words. To think that they had gone so many months with so little information, each text revealing little about their opponents when the Knights of Byzantium had watched their struggles from afar, all the while withholding the very information that they sought. All of it was enough to make his hand itch for his hidden wand even as he struggled to put the information in the proper place so that he could ask the important questions. The really important ones. "So how do we defeat them?" he murmured, pausing long enough to send the older man a searching glance.

"Defeat them?" General Gregor repeated, his eyes growing wide with disbelief. "You can't," he stated, his words so very simple and yet so damning at the same time. "In their true forms they are immortal, invincible, and quite unstoppable."

"Their true forms?" Giles quickly returned, his eyes narrowing as he slowly advanced on the man. "As opposed to what?"

Sighing, Gregor slowly shook his head. "As I've already stated, when they were first banished to this world, their essence was pushed into the bodies of twin children who were born in the moment that they entered this world. In those first few months, while trapped within the mortal coil and housed beneath the souls of the two innocent children, they were as mortal as any of us," he stated, his expression turning almost wistful at such an amazing opportunity, lost to them centuries before his birth. "However, all too soon Serantine and Dahmascus learned that by drinking of our essence, they are able to strengthen their bodies so that the mortal personae is shoved to the side. It is a lesson that they have never forgotten, and in the past five hundred years they have never allowed themselves to become so weak again.

Frowning thoughtfully, Harry allowed the man's words to wash over him as something nagged at the back of his mind; a puzzling fact that had been pushed to the side in the face of learning of all that had befallen his friends and family in his absence. Yet it was something of importance... something that... "I felt them," he finally murmured, his eyes growing wide as he recalled the strange power that he felt in front of the snowy warehouse in Cleveland - the incredible power that had emanated from the Hell Gods. A power that had been so strong, and yet so separate.

"Harry?" Sirius asked cautiously as he gently scooted forward in his chair, one hand falling heavily upon his godson's shoulder.

"I felt them - in Cleveland," Harry explained, his eyes vague and unfocused as he sorted through the memories. "After Buffy had been stunned I had stretched out my senses, trying to find her... and I had felt them. I had felt those that they had taken. They were so powerful and there were so many," he murmured, his words dying away as he silently withdrew into himself, a puzzled frown pulling at his features.

For a moment more, Giles stared at the teen before slowly shaking his head. He had too many other thoughts and worries occupying his thoughts that one more mystery just seemed to get caught up in the flow. Samuel dead. Faith in a coma. Ron and Miss Parker gone. Angelus returned. Buffy missing. How had their world become so backwards in the spacing of one hour? Now the Gods had their Key and it seemed that there was no way to defeat them. In the end, the only thing they could do was hope to delay the event until the time had passed. The event. "How long do we have?" he asked as he turned towards the grim-faced General once more, his voice betraying his weariness in the face of their seemingly hopeless task.

"One week," the man returned, his grave words once more casting the room into silence.

* * *

Sighing softly, Monsieur Robert Bertrone slowly made his way through the battered metal door, his steel gray eyes seemingly cold and unfathomable as they impassively swept over the room before him. Seemingly being the key word, for as his eyes fell upon the bloody, battered, and beaten body of the first slayer as she lay in a pool of her own blood and filth, he felt his heart constrict and his gaze soften. He had done this. He had brought this fate upon the broken girl that lay before him... no, not broken, he realized as the girl stirred at his entrance, her blond head slowly tilting to the side enough so that she could glare weakly at him from her prostrate position.

The spell that had restricted her movements and allowed the gods their play had faded long ago, yet as he slowly drew closer to the young woman, he saw that it was the injuries that now prevented the fiery girl from making her escape. Over the course of the past week of her internment, Dahmascus and Serantine had learned that there was nothing that they could do to activate the Key that had become a part of the slayer. Blood-letting, ancient rituals and rites, whispered prayers - none of these practices would serve to release that which the slayer now housed - and as such, the vengeance of the gods had been delivered upon the helpless slayer with a fury that knew no bounds.

Shaking his head, Bertrone felt every single one of his fifty odd years, and then some, as he quietly knelt beside the slayer, her green eyes never leaving his own level gaze. Reaching forward, he gently gathered the girl in his arms, ignorant of the blood and filth that rubbed against his immaculate suit as a soft cry of pain escaped her clenched lips. "I am sorry, ma petite," he whispered, his words soft as he delicately lifted the petite girl and crossed the short distance to the old cot that rest against the far wall. As though he carried his own Celeste in his arms, he then gently lowered her to the molding mattress.

Without a word being spoken between them, he then left the small slayer as he retrieved a small bowl of warm water, a clean cloth, and a small bag that contained a very limited array of bottled potions and salves. As her mistrustful green gaze remained locked on his stern countenance, he then set to the gruesome task of cleaning away the blood and dirt that marred the girl's bruised cheeks, cleaning and bandaging cuts and abrasions and binding the wounds that were more serious. Gently, he uncorked potion after potion, carefully lifting the girl's head and helping her to drink the different magical concoctions that went to work on healing her battered body.

"Why are you doing this?" Buffy finally whispered, feeling the strength begin to return to her aching body even as the pain began to lessen, her eyes remaining locked on the man that sat beside her.

For a moment, Bertrone paused in his ministrations as he thought over the girl's guarded question. He could have told her that he merely did it to ensure that the key was still living when it needed to be used, or because the god's let him... but instead, he found himself giving her the truth. "Because I never meant for any of this to happen. None of it," he stated, his voice grim as he resolutely met her unblinking emerald gaze. "They promised to return Celeste to me, and being the fool that I am... I believed them," he added simply as he shrugged his shoulders - all the while ignoring the pain that burned in his heart. He had been a fool and he had been deceived. He knew this now, for the Gods had their Key, and he had yet to have his Celeste returned to him. And she would never be returned to him. After all, if the Gods could not keep their vow to not harm any of those that he had named, or to leave intact any of the locations he had given, how could he trust them to hold to their bargain? "I was a fool," he continued, his voice falling to a whisper as he gently reached forward to rub at a cut that marred the skin above the girl's bleak gaze, "and my error has cost us all." 

Sighing softly, Bertrone turned away from his ministrations and deftly washed the blood from the small cloth before returning to his tasks. His tasks.. the thought made him want to laugh, yet he knew the laughter was merely a front to keep the tears at bay. He had never been a gambler, yet he had gambled everything when he betrayed everything he had ever known - a gamble that he had sorely lost and a loss for which his allies had paid the heavy toll. "I can only hope that somehow, wherever my slayer now rests, she will understand why I did what I have," he murmured, unable to bear the thought of Celeste's disappointment. Giles had talked about a slayer's legacy, and the duty of a watcher to make his slayer proud once she finally left the circles of their world... he had failed his slayer in that. "I did it all for her, and for that, I can only pray that she will forgive me when I see her next, beyond this world," he murmured, his forehead creased in pain.

Wearily closing her eyes, Buffy allowed herself to sag back against the thin mattress as the watcher continued to bind her many hurts. "Celeste would have never wanted any of this," she murmured, her tired eyes opening once more.

"I know," Bertrone admitted as he once more paused in his ministrations. "But somehow.. somehow that didn't matter so much. I was willing to do anything to get my slayer back... including offering another slayer in her place," he continued as he gravely met the young girl's gaze. "For that I am sorry."

Closing her eyes once more, Buffy slowly turned away from the man that had been the cause of so much pain and destruction. While it had been the hands of Dahmascus and Serantine that had beaten at her friends, it had been Bertrone that had led them there. The man had led their enemies to strike at the places in which Buffy would hurt the most. "They said that they're dead," she whispered, hating the tears that even now burned at her tightly closed lids - the tears that she had dared only shed when she was finally alone with her pain.

"Some," Bertrone admitted, his words causing his heart to ache as the guilt nearly overwhelmed him. "And while I know little, I can tell you this: a group of unnamed individuals abducted young Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley from the hospital that they had been taken to - individuals whose descriptions bear an uncanny resemblance to your Watcher and his friends."

A soft sob escaping her lips, Buffy turned her glimmering green eyes to the man that sat beside her, reading the truth of his statement in his softened gray eyes. Giles and the others came for Harry, which meant that he could still be alive. The thought alone was enough for some of Buffy's grief to leave her as hope once more blossomed in her heart. After all, if the gods had been wrong on one account, it was possible that they were misspoken on the fate of the others as well. And even if the hope was naive, Buffy found herself clinging to it with a tenacity that would have normally surprised her... then again, as she had learned during her brutal captivity within the thick walls of the Centre, some kind of hope - any kind of hope was necessary in order to survive such brutality. And if she had been able to survive such cruelty before, Buffy knew that she could survive it again. Too many people were counting on her to do otherwise and she wouldn't disappoint them. After all, there already seemed to be far too much disappointment this day - and for some, the disappointment and the guilt would never go away.

Sighing, Buffy shrewdly eyed the stern man that sat beside her, his face impassive as he worked to ease her pain - pain that he himself had played a role in inflicting. She knew that this man loved his slayer, and it was evident that he had done so many things that he so obviously regretted in some twisted way to save his slayer. Idly, she couldn't help but wonder if Giles would have done the same. If someone had come to him, offering him a chance to save her in exchange for evil deeds, would he choose the same path? Did he love her so much as to turn his back on everything that he believed? Shifting uncomfortably on the thin mattress, Buffy was honest enough with herself to admit that she didn't know the answer to that question. After all, what would she do? How far would she go to save a loved one? What would she be willing to sacrifice in order to keep Giles, Harry, Willow and Xander and everyone else that she loved safe?

"I see the way that you look at me and I know the questions that you ask yourself," Bertrone murmured, his words drawing her from her thoughts as she narrowed her gaze upon him. "They are good questions to be asking yourself - questions that will soon come into play."

"How so?" Buffy returned, a small frown pulling at her lips.

"Because while I regret the consequences of my actions, I still believe that I made the best choice," Bertrone responded, his voice grave as he levelly met her incredulous gaze.

"What choice?" the small slayer snapped as she jerked away from his touch. "Because while the hell bitch and Dumb-ass Dahm may have me, it's obvious that they don't know how to use me."

"Which is because, as we both know, they cannot use you," he returned, obviously unperturbed by her heated outburst. "Only you have the power to activate that which is inside of you," he stated, watching as the girl's frown only deepened at his words. Sighing softly, he stood and began to clear away his soiled supplies. "Have the others figured out yet what happens when the Key is activated?" he asked, quickly changing tracks as he made a point to avoid her suspicious gaze.

"No-"

"And without that information, they are making uninformed decisions," Bertrone cut in, stilling long enough to meet her calculating gaze.

"And you do know what happens," Buffy surmised as she slowly and painfully pushed herself away from the stained mattress until she was leaning back against the corrugated metal of the wall behind her.

"I do," he affirmed, his eyes growing shadowed.

"And you're going to just believe what they told you?" the small blond challenged as she stubbornly crossed her bruised arms over her thin tank, as much to attempt to heat her chilled skin as a show of her incredulity.

"They have no reason to lie about this," Bertrone countered, his voice soft as he slowly made his way back towards the girl until he was kneeling before her. "When the Key is activated, all barriers between dimensions will fall, and for that time, hell will reign upon Earth."

"And this is a good thing, how?" Buffy quickly snapped back, even as she unconsciously tightened her arms around her shivering form. After all, they were no longer just talking about some mystical thing that had no substance. No. After the monks got through with her, they were talking about _her_.

"Because once the gods are through the doorway, they are returned to their home and then the doorway can be closed," the ex-watcher patiently explained, his gray eyes hard and unflinching. "It will be a moment of hell on Earth in return for ridding this world of their evil forever."

Frowning, Buffy slowly mulled over his words. While she hated to admit it, there was a certain bit of logic to what he was saying. After all, she had been in the hands of the Hell Gods for over a week now and had certainly come to appreciate what it meant to be a Hell God - and one of those perks seemed to be a daunting invincibility that was combined with a nasty side of longevity. She couldn't beat these Hell Gods. She couldn't destroy them. And if a slayer couldn't destroy them, and if magic was no threat to them... then there was truly nothing that she or the others could do to stop them. And while the thought of acceding to the wishes of Evil truly did make her skin crawl, even Buffy had to admit that there was a certain bit of logic to just sending the damn gods back to wherever they belonged. Then again, Buffy didn't survive as a slayer for over five years by being overly optimistic and if she had learned anything over the past five years, it was that nothing was ever easy. Sighing, she slowly shook her head as she met the watcher's gray eyes. "I sense a big 'but' coming on here," she murmured, inviting the man to give the downside to this grand scheme - for after all, there was_ always_ a downside.

"Once activated, you will not be able to control the doorway, and thus, the Key must be silenced."

Sighing dramatically, Buffy wearily shook her head. "I knew there was a but," she muttered as she frowned at the man. "So you want to put me in the lock, turn me, and then throw a grenade at me," she summed up as she ticked the points off the fingers of one small hand. "I'm really failing to see how this is a good thing."

Ignoring her glib words, Bertrone slowly inclined his head towards her. "You need to sacrifice yourself," he stated, his voice solemn and dark.

Scowling darkly, Buffy quickly tightened her arms around her small middle. "Sacrifice," she returned bitterly, her eyes narrowing into emerald lines on her battered face, "there's that word again."

"It's a part of your destiny. A part of being the Slayer-"

"Yeah, well I'm really beginning to hate that word," Buffy quickly cut in as she pointedly turned away from the tall watcher. "Haven't I sacrificed enough already?" she asked as she threw him a dark glare before frowning furiously at her tightly clenched hands, feeling far more bitter at her lot in life than any other time in her life. When told about her destiny, she had fought it tooth and nail at first. When she had been told that her own death had been foretold at the hands of the Master, she had openly balked. After all, she didn't want to die. She was only fifteen years old. She was supposed to have her whole life in front of her. But she did it. She gave into destiny and she stepped up to take one for the team... but how much could the Fates possibly ask her to sacrifice in the course of her young life? "I've sacrificed friends, lovers, and have even lost my mom to being the-"

"And I've lost my slayer!" Bertrone angrily cut in, his gray eyes flashing as Buffy openly recoiled from the dark swirl of his emotions. Sighing, the watcher felt the tension leave his body as he heavily settled himself on the small cot beside the tiny slayer, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose as his emotions battered against his frayed hold. He was tired. So damn tired and the end didn't seem to be in sight. "And the world will lose thousands if the gods aren't returned to their world," he murmured, his words softer as he turned towards the small slayer, her shoulders stooped beneath the weight that she carried.

Refusing to allow the tears to fall, Buffy once more wrapped her arms around her waist as she tried in vain to ward off the chill of his words. So much... so much lying on her. On her sacrifice. "So I have to die to see the Hell Bitch and her Ho Bag Boy get gone?" she murmured, her words hollow.

"Yes," Bertrone agreed, sighing softly as he slowly pushed himself from the worn mattress and began to tiredly make his way towards the far door. "And by doing so, you will spare hundreds of thousands the fate that has been put upon my Celeste and those you hold dear," he murmured, knowing that the small girl had heard every word as he slowly slipped through, leaving her to her thoughts.

* * *

By the flickering light of a waning candle, Harry slowly poured through the ancient text, his sore, watery eyes skimming over the small words as he searched in vain for the answers that he was seeking. Answers, so it seemed, that this book would fail to reveal, same as all of the others. Cursing quietly beneath his breath, the young wizard slammed the book shut with a force that sent clouds of dust flying from the brittle pages, his hand already reaching for the next text even as someone cleared their throat pointedly behind him. Swiveling in the old, creaking chair, Harry's green eyes fell on Dumbledore's bent form, the aged headmaster slowly moving through the shadows to stand before him.

"So this is where you have secreted yourself away for the past few days," his old mentor commented idly as his blue eyes impassively swept over the large pile of books that laden the scarred table. 

Burning heat rushing to his cheeks, Harry flushed as he realized who exactly had been privy to his uncharacteristic outburst. Wincing, he threw a guarded gaze to the ancient book that had taken the brunt of his wrath, his shame deepening as he took in the bits of scattered pages that had blown free of the book's old bindings. "Sir, I-" he began, his haphazard apology quickly waved away as Dumbledore smiled wryly at the young man.

"No, don't bother," the older man returned as he slowly lowered his aged limbs into a chair opposite of Harry, a wry smile pulling at the corners of his beard. "I am simply the headmaster at this school, and _not_ the library. As such, we shall keep this between you, me, and the books," he added as he winked at Harry - and then frowned as his gaze fell upon the titles of the various books that littered the scarred table. "Although I was certain that Madam Pince kept these texts in the Restricted Section, which should have been locked..."

"She does, and it was," Harry agreed, his flush deepening as he sheepishly shrugged his broad shoulders. "Yet Hermione taught Ron and I the _alohomora_ charm during our... first year," Harry finished, his words dying away as his smile slowly faltered at the mention of his friends. Seven years was a long time to pass in a friendship. Seven years of practically being connected at the hip, facing adventure, danger, and too many boring lectures to remember. Seven years, and yet he had barely seen either of them in the past seven months. And now.. now it would seem that he would never again have the chance to be with his two best friends as one had been taken away from him while the other was lost in her grief.

Eyes narrowing shrewdly, Dumbledore took the silence for what it was as he quietly cleared his throat, drawing Harry from his distracted thoughts. "You haven't visited young Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger then, have you?" he asked, his face suddenly seeming far older than his many years. "A visit may do you good," he prodded when the silence seemed to stretch.

For a moment more, Harry thought of his dear friends before he allowed his eyes to fall upon the scarred wood before him with a soft sigh. "I can't," he returned, his expression grim as he reached for another book. "Not until I can give Hermione some hope... not until I can give us all some," he corrected as his hands began to absently turn the pages.

Curious despite himself, Dumbledore watched as Harry paged through the ancient text that outlined the very darkest of dark magicks, long since forbidden from their world. Yet when Harry didn't seem willing to share his thoughts, the aged wizard nimbly jumped from one topic to another with the skill that he had perfected over the many years. "We have been able to convince General Gregor to forgo destroying the Key in place of your godfather's plan of action: to arrive at the point of ritual moments before it is to take place in hopes of distracting the Hell Gods long enough to miss their window."

"Hope," Harry quickly muttered as he abandoned his latest book to openly scoff at the headmaster. "I've seen what these Hell Gods can do and I can promise you that there is little hope in that plan."

"Yet it is the only plan... the only _hope_ that we have," Dumbledore returned, casually leaning back in his chair as his blue eyes narrowed upon the youth that sat before him.

"Then there's no hope at all," Harry muttered, oblivious to the headmaster's appraising gaze as his eyes narrowed upon his hands as he balled them into fists before him. "I've seen what they're capable of," he continued even as the screams of the dying council members echoed hauntingly in his mind. "There's no hope of everyone coming away from this, and your plan holds absolutely no hope for Hermione."

"We cannot undo what the Hell Gods have-"

"Can't we?" Harry interrupted, his whispered question causing the headmaster to straighten as the young wizard lifted his eyes once more

Intrigued, Dumbledore felt the wheels in his mind slowly begin to turn as he nodded at the boy before him. "Explain."

Nodding, Harry silently went over the strange, nagging thoughts that had been haunting him ever since the impromptu meeting with Gregor almost two days before. "When I was in Cleveland," he began, his gaze growing vague as he stared absently at the pale hands clasped before him, "I opened my senses as Buffy had taught me to, and... and I'm almost positive that what I sensed from the gods were the individual parts that they had stolen from everyone for who knows how long," he continued, his head lifting as his green eyes searched Dumbledore's guarded gaze, searching for any sign that his former headmaster found him mad. Sighing, he quickly tore his eyes away as he once more thought back to the swirling vortex of power that had emanated from each of the Hell Gods. Stolen power. Stolen from their victims. "I don't think that they're lost forever," he continued, his words slow and halting, "but rather collected within them, strengthening them."

"Which is much what General Gregor has already stated," Dumbledore offered, curious as to where Harry was heading with his musings. "Yet the fact remains that there is nothing-"

"When Buffy and I apparate together," Harry broke in, rudely interrupting the older wizard once more as he stubbornly pushed on, "it's as though I need her permission to pull what I need from what's inside of her."

"But the gods would never give you permission," Dumbledore murmured, beginning to see the direction of the younger wizard's thoughts.

"Exactly," Harry agreed, his green eyes lifting once more. "Which means that if I can find a way to override that necessity, I may be able to take back what they've taken from Ron, Miss Parker, Celeste, and even Angel and everyone else that they've ever hurt," he continued, his words falling from his lips faster and faster. "If we take away their barriers, they won't be strong enough to stay in their immortal forms and will be forced back into their mortal prisons - at least for a little while," he quickly amended. "But-"

"They'll be mortal," Dumbledore finished, his blue eyes narrowed in thought.

Nodding quickly, Harry brushed an unruly raven lock from his forehead as he pushed on with what was beginning to feel like a sales pitch. "If we can only find a way to make this work, then not only will we stop them from using Buffy to bring down the barriers, but we'll also get rid of them forever. We can beat them!"

Frowning, Dumbledore slowly leaned back in his chair, one hand lifting to take the gnarled end of his long beard and twisting it up until he was thoughtfully chewing on the frayed end. "This skill that you possess to draw from Miss Summers," he began, his sharp mind whirling over all of the possible angles and implications, "is not something that has ever been seen in wizarding magic. It's not natural for our kind," he clarified, his blue eyes serious as he lifted the wet ends and flicked them in Harry's direction, as though to stress his point. "As you are well aware, the key behind our magic is to draw upon the magic that rests within oneself. Not another."

"Which would explain why I can't find the answers that I need in any of these books," Harry sighed, frowning as he shoved the old text to the side. A frown that quickly melted into a bright grin as he pushed his chair back so fast that it screeched loudly across the stone floor. "But I know where I can," he stated as he grabbed the thin leather jacket that was draped over the chair's back.

"Where?" Dumbledore returned, his eyes never straying from Harry's large grin.

"I've been doing this all backwards," he stated, more to himself than anything as he lifted his sparkling green eyes to his former headmaster. "You're right," he stated, his grin stretching until it seemed to lighten his entire appearance. "What I've been doing isn't wizarding magic. It's Wiccan, and I know just the two Wiccas to help me find the answers that I'm looking for."

"You're going to the Hellmouth," Dumbledore stated, a slow frown pulling at the ends of his long beard as he took in the boy's unfounded hope. A hope that he feared would never see fruition.

Nodding quickly, Harry absently began to gather the large pile of books that had been stacked on the corner of the table. "Today is Monday, and the ritual is to take place on Friday night. That gives me four days to try and make this work," he stated as he lifted the large pile into his arms - and then nearly slapped himself as he quickly dropped his heavy burden and used a small bit of wandless magic to send the heavy texts back to their appropriate places.

"And what if you cannot make it work?" Dumbledore returned, forcing the practical question even as Harry's expression seemed to tighten.

"Then I'll be counting on you, Giles, and Sirius to follow through with your plan to keep the gods busy long enough for their window to pass," he stated, catching Dumbledore's eyes briefly before striding past him - only to pause as an old, wrinkled hand fell upon his shoulder. Surprised, he turned to see Dumbledore standing tall behind him, his expression twisted into an uncharacteristic look of pity. Pity that, Harry realized with a slumping of his proud shoulders, could only mean that Dumbledore didn't think that he could do it. For the first time ever, the headmaster didn't believe that he would find a way. "I have to try this," Harry murmured, trying to gather the edges of his elusive hope once more. "Ron's my best friend," he added, his voice faltering as tears began to burn at the corners of his eyes. "I won't just sit there and do nothing."

Sighing softly, Dumbledore slowly released his hold on Harry's shoulder. After everything that Harry had done in his short lifetime - after everything that he had sacrificed and worked at and _achieved_ for their world, this small hope was one thing that Dumbledore didn't have the heart to deny. "Just stop by the infirmary on your way and pick up some potions from Poppy," he instructed, his hand slowly falling back to the soft folds of his long robes. "I'm sure that those in Sunnydale would appreciate any help in their healing that they can get - especially since they have taken on the duties of the Slayer."

"I will," Harry promised, turning to leave once more, only to have his feet falter beneath him. "And will you... will you just tell Sirius that-"

"I will handle Sirius," Dumbledore promised, a wan smile hidden behind his voluminous beard as Harry grinned weakly at him before turning and hurrying from the room, leaving the headmaster alone in the cavernous library - alone with his fears, his doubts, and the slow burgeoning of an unforseen hope.

Hope... such a fickle emotion. To be delivered so easily, offering promise of release and comfort, only to be stolen away just as easily - so quickly and viciously. Yet in the situation that they faced, there seemed to be little room for anything outside of hope - for to live without hope was truly not to live at all. And besides - outside of Buffy herself, there was no one who had more to gain and so much more to lose in the coming battle than Harry himself. He would find a way. He had to.

**To be continued...**


	20. Chapter 20

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 20"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: Hehe... two chapters to go and we are DONE!!! Which means that the fireworks are kicking off in the next chapter - and boy are they going to be... loud. ;p Also, I noticed a few questions in the last set of reviews about what comes next - and while my next project will _not_ be a continuation of this trilogy, I'm hoping to see quite a few of you the next time around!

I'm currently mucking my way through the initial stages of a BtVS/LoTR cross that will feature a Season 7 Buffy in a way that hasn't been done already... just my attempts to stay on the originality train that I've been riding. So sorry folks, but Buffy will _not_ be dropping in on the Council of Elrond, nor will she be joining the Fellowship (although there have been quite a few outstanding fics done with this theme). We're going to be trying something new... *grins* so please keep an eye out for "Equinoxium," set to make its debut sometime in the next few weeks.

Oh, and please review. Please? Pretty please???

* * *

As the warm winter sun glinted off of his messy black hair, Harry's green eyes curiously took in the large double doors as he slowly stepped up the cracked sidewalk, his hands stuffed into the deep pockets of his light leather jacket. It was disorienting to instantaneously travel from one place to another when the climates were so startlingly different. While both locations were currently locked in the throes of winter, one was buried beneath mountains of snow while the other thrived amongst green grass and the occasional winter flower. And if this was the typical climate for this region, it was no wonder that Buffy had complained so much when first coming to Hogwarts. After all, her native California's winter was almost likened to England's spring or fall.... her California. 

Sighing softly, Harry paused in his steps as he slowly looked at the quiet neighborhood that opened behind him. Sunnydale, California. The Hellmouth. This was Buffy's stomping grounds, a town that had borne witness to many of her greatest battles. To this town and its inhabitants, Buffy Summers was the Slayer - a powerful warrior that fought against the darkness that plagued the deceptively sleepy, California town. She was their slayer, their missing hero, and he was a stranger. He was nothing to these people. No wizarding prodigy. No child that had defeated the darkest Dark Lord of their times. He wasn't anything but another young man strolling down a sidewalk, paused before a massive house and tormented by memories and thoughts of darker days and nights. By all rights, his first visit to Sunnydale should have been at Buffy's side. It was her right to introduce him to her world as he had done for her. But circumstance had stolen away that opportunity and now he entered the town alone.

Shaking away his troubled thoughts, Harry resolutely continued down the cracked walk, his eyes straying once more to the large doors that loomed imposingly before him. Curious despite himself, he allowed his eyes to trace over the large muggle home, his head tilted to the side even as he lifted his hand to the ornate, curved handle and released the heavy metal to fall against the brass knocker with a resounding thud that seemed to echo within the large structure before him. Immediately he heard voices echo from within before one of the large doors was pulled open, revealing a familiar tall, dark-haired young man whose shoulder was so heavily swathed in bandages that he looked malformed and misshapen.

"Harry!" Xander exclaimed, his brown eyes growing wide as he took in the wizard that stood before him. While it had been a little over a month since Christmas and the last time he had seen Buffy's boyfriend, it still seemed as though an age or more had gone by. After all, it had only been little over a week since the Hell Gods had descended down upon them with a vengeance, sending Faith into yet another coma and leaving the Scoobies to once more bear the heavy mantle of keeping the Hellmouth in order until the new slayer arrived. A week that had become an eternity in and of itself. "What are you doing here?" he asked as he smiled at the dark-haired teen, sharp eyes taking in the black duffel that was draped over Harry's shoulder with a questioning glance.

"Madam Pomfrey sent me with some potions for you and Faith," Harry explained as he absently patted the large bag.

Instantly Xander straightened, his expression brightening as he practically began dancing upon the balls of his feet. "You can wake her up?" he asked, his heart tightening in his chest at the thought of finally restoring their slayer to them. For while Faith had never exactly been like a Buffy in the lives of the Scoobies, over the past year she had found her own place in their lives - a place that left a gaping hole with her absence.

Wincing, Harry quickly shook his head as he fervently berated himself for his misleading words. With his own world torn apart and everything balancing on the fine rim between hope and the dismal reality that they led, he could understand all to well the crushing blow his words had just unleashed upon Buffy's old friend. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his hand tightening on the small bag as he forced himself not to back away. "Madam Pomfrey said that the brain is too delicate and that it isn't safe for magic to mix with it," he explained, bravely struggling on in the face of Xander's disappointment. "The potions are to help with her other injuries, and your shoulder as well," he added, smiling tentatively as he offered the bag before him as a sort of peace offering.

Forcing down the sharp waves of disappointment, Xander flashed Harry a weak grin as he accepted the duffel with his good hand. And then, as a thick silence seemed to settle over them, Xander stared at Harry blankly for a moment before he quickly flushed and stepped back, pushing the door open and beckoning him through in a silent, unspoken invitation.

"Thanks," Harry murmured, nodding his head curtly at the Scooby as he stepped past and into the dimly light foyer beyond. Curious, he allowed his green eyes to sweep over the massive marble room, the likes of which he had never seen before.

Seeing his fascination, Xander grinned wryly at the teen. "Deadboy's place," he explained as he, too, looked around the massive foyer that led into the large living room. There were so many memories associated with the mansion - some good, many more quite bad. Buffy had sent Angel to Hell in the very next room, and yet that same room had also seen the final resistance that the Scoobies launched against the Centre in their efforts to reclaim their missing slayer. "With Faith's house gone, Wesley said we could stay at the mansion... it's not like Deadboy's going to be using it anytime soon," he added, his expression grim as he turned away from the darkened living room and began leading him down a darkened hallway. "So... took a bullet for the Buffster," he stated, obviously striving for some common ground as he led the wizard further into the large building. "How was that for you?"

Smiling wryly at his companion, Harry allowed one hand to gently rest over the recently mended wound. "Probably much the same as it was for you to be the pincushion to a Hell God."

"Shish kabob," Xander quickly corrected as he led the way down a twisting hall. "After sticking me he tried to roast me alive," he added by way of explanation as he stepped into a spacious and brightly lit kitchen, only to be pushed to the side as Willow practically threw herself at their unexpected guest.

"Harry!" Willow greeted as she grinned unabashedly at the dark-haired teen, her green eyes dancing beneath skin that was covered in mottled bruises, some fresher than others, and fading cuts and scratches. "What are you doing here?"

"Bringing healing potions from Madam Pomfrey," Harry returned with a light grin as he disentangled himself from the slender redhead. "Although," he added as he cast a critical gaze over Willow's battered features, and the equally battered form of Tara from where the gentle wiccan was watching the reunion from the nearby kitchen table, "it looks as though I should have brought more."

"Nah, it's just taking us a bit longer to get back in stride," Xander replied, casually waving away Harry's concern as he settled himself on a nearby chair, dropping the full duffel on top of a pile of books as he began sorting through the different glass bottles within.

"Besides," Willow added as moved to Xander's side and took the bag from him, "the new slayer should be arriving within the week."

"Hopefully," Tara added with a shy smile as she abandoned the ancient text that she had been perusing. "Things h-have actually been kind of quiet here," she continued as she waved away the meticulously labeled potion that Willow had placed before her.

"Slow?" Harry returned as he pointedly looked from one battered form to another.

"Short purple demon with six arms and four clubs," Xander supplied as he pointed at the picture of a spiked demon from the text before him. "He gave us a little bit of trouble last night," he added, shrugging slightly even as his expression sobered. "Has there been any word about Buffy?" he asked, changing the flow of the conversation so quickly that Harry didn't have the chance to steel his heart from the pain that the simple question wrought. "Because I'm sure that you didn't come all this way just to bring us potions, did you?"

"No, I didn't," Harry agreed, his voice solemn as he slowly turned until he was looking at the two wiccans that had settled opposite of them. "I actually came to see Willow and Tara."

"Why?" Willow returned, her curiosity piqued.

"Because we have little time and I need your help with something..."

* * *

Sighing softly, Buffy allowed her head to fall back against the cold, corrugated metal behind her with a dull thump that echoed throughout her small prison. Lifting it, she paused for a moment as she absently tugged at the thick metal cuffs that locked her wrist to the frame of the mattress, before allowing her head to fall back yet again with another hollow thump.

Lift the head.

Jingle the cuffs.

Let it fall.

Lift the head.

Jingle the cuffs.

Let it fall.

Lift the head.

Jingle the cuffs.

Let it fall.

It was a monotonous sequence that Buffy had begun hours.. perhaps even days ago. Locked as she was inside the small, cramped room of what had to be some miscellaneous warehouse, keeping track of the time was nearly impossible. Thus she tracked the passage of time with the simple routine she had formed - and all the while her thoughts whirled around her like a tornado on a hot, sticky night.

Bertrone was asking for a sacrifice.

Her sacrifice.

He claimed that it would save the world - that it would save those that she loved.

The only downfall was that Buffy wouldn't be around to enjoy it.

This small sacrifice that he was asking her to make meant so many things... so many nevers: never laughing with her friends, never training with Giles, never kissing Harry.... it meant embracing whatever came after this life, if anything at all.

It meant death.

For someone who had technically died before, Buffy was beginning to understand that she had no desire to do so again. She had no desire to say goodbye to everyone that she loved. She had no desire to go quietly into the darkness. All in all, she wasn't done living yet.

She was only nineteen years old and as she faced death, she found herself coming to the conclusion that she wanted to see what the next nineteen years had in store - or fifty for that matter. Maybe even ninety. And while her calling as the Slayer pretty much ensured that she was going to bite it sooner or later, as the hours began to pass by with the dull thump of her head and the jingle of her chains, Buffy was quickly coming to realize that dying in a battle where she was fighting to her last breath was a whole hell of a lot different than willingly stepping up and saying, 'here, please kill me now.'

"This sucks," Buffy muttered, her soft words sounding like a booming toll in the small, tomb-like room.

And suck it did.

The selfish part of her - the part that had been buried once she had been called - was busy whining about the fact that she was _sick_ of taking one for the home team. She was sick of allowing Fate to walk all over her in order to satisfy itself. So she was the slayer. Fine then, she would go out each night and fight the fight in order to save hundreds of thousands of people that didn't even know that she existed. That didn't care about her or her damn sacrifices. Somehow she had even found someone to share this fight with her - but did that mean that she had to be Fate's butt-monkey?

"Butt monkey," Buffy murmured, snorting softly as she thought wistfully of her long-time Scooby friend. Xander had once claimed that he felt as though he was someone's cosmic butt monkey, what with his habit of falling for the absolute worst people - such as evil mummy girls and bug teachers. Yet...

How was it that Xander, a perfectly ordinary guy in every way possible, acted repeatedly as Fate's butt-monkey... and yet kept coming back for more? He wasn't a slayer. He wasn't a wizard. He wasn't a Wiccan or even a watcher. He was simply Xander Harris, zeppo and normal guy extraordinaire who happened to have a slayer and a Wiccan for a best friend. A guy who chummed around with werewolves and associated with wizards and watchers. He was Joe Shmoe and yet he took everything that fate threw at him with a bit of good-natured griping... and yet he took it all. Xander had never once backed out from a fight, even when the odds were insurmountably against them. He had never taken the easy way out... and he had done it all in order to help his friends.

Sighing, Buffy wearily closed her eyes as she allowed her head to thump back against the wall behind her... and didn't lift it again. She was being petty, selfish, and adolescent - and she knew it. More than anything, though, she was being human - and that was a luxury that a Slayer couldn't afford. While Xander didn't need to do the things that he did, she _did_ have to, because whether she liked it or not, Fate _had_ picked her to be the Slayer and it was her _duty_ to do what needed to be done in order for everyone else to see another day. More importantly, even if she wasn't the Slayer and it wasn't her job to do so... the decision wasn't really a decision at all for the simple fact that her friends needed her. Unless she did as Bertrone asked... unless she _sacrificed_ herself, she was letting down everyone who depended on her. Everyone that she loved. True, the world wouldn't end if she didn't acquiesce to the Hell Gods' demands and use her innate keyness to open their damn portal, but the Hell Gods would certainly make sure that she and everyone that she loved and cared about lived to regret that decision. In other words, she would be giving the Gods another five hundred years to take their wrath out upon her world. And that was no choice at all.

Straightening slightly on her small cot, Buffy once more played with the chains that were holding her captive - and then broke the restraining metal with a sharp jerk of her flexed arm, sending the chains clattering noisily to the floor. Absently massaging her bruised wrist, the small slayer slid from the worn cot and turned towards the only door to her prison - and nodded at the two Hell Gods and the former watcher that quietly entered the small room and stood impassively before her. "I've made my decision," she stated, her words even as her green eyes slid over the Hellish duo before finally lighting on the watcher that, predictably enough, watched her with guarded gray eyes. "I'll open your door on the condition that you close it once they're through," she stated, her voice hard as she locked eyes with Bertrone.

"Then tomorrow the ritual will be done," Bertrone murmured, noting how the girl jerked slightly in shock at his confirmation of just how long she had sat in the darkness, stewing over her decision.

"Tomorrow," Buffy agreed, her expression wavering as the enormity of her fate swept over her thin frame - a frame that had only grown thinner during her forced captivity. "Tomorrow and it will all be over," she murmured, her eyes dropping down to the ripped and bloodied clothes she still wore - her soft words just idle background noise to her thunderous thoughts. "Can I say goodbye?" she asked, eyes lifting and seeking out the compassionate eyes of the French watcher, even as she studiously ignored her tormentors who stood beside him.

Frowning, Bertrone glanced quickly to Dahmascus and Serantine before slowly shaking his head. "I... would not think it wise," he finally murmured as he struggled to speak around the lump in his throat. The slayer that stood before him was not the same slayer that he had known, albeit briefly. Instead, the person that stood before him, clothed in blood-stained loose-fitting pants and a tattered tank top, seemed more girl than woman, her blond hair lank and dirty as it hung around features that were far too pale and pointed. "They care for you too much to see reason. They would never allow you to go through with what must be done."

Sighing, Buffy slowly allowed her head to dip down, her blond hair sliding forward to form a curtain around her wan features. He was right, of course, for even though she wanted nothing more than to see everyone one last time, to hug each and every one of them and tell them how much she loved them... to do so would only prevent her from doing what needed to be done. Not only would they never let her go, but _she_ would never be able to leave them. "Where are we?" she asked, her scattered thoughts flitting from one thing to another.

"Sunnydale," Bertrone admitted, watching as the girl resignedly nodded her head.

"I thought so," Buffy murmured, her eyes once more falling down to the pale hands that she had unwittingly wrapped around her slender frame. "Can I at least go one place? There's one person that I would like to see... someone that won't be able to stop me."

* * *

Ten months... ten months since she had last walked the shadowed paths of one of the many cemeteries that filled her small town. And when you were only nineteen years old, ten months might as well of been a lifetime. Then again, ten months seemed insignificant to how it had felt to once more walk in Sunnydale after five months of imprisonment within the Centre. All a matter of perspective, she supposed, for she was a prisoner once more.

A slight smile lifting her lips, Buffy took in the familiar smell of the winter flowers that dotted the many graves that she and her three companions silently filed past, the full moon glinting down upon her bowed head. Surprisingly enough, it had been relatively easy to convince Dahmascus and Serantine to allow her this visit, and even though she had been forced to accept their company as an escort, as well as Bertrone himself, she was hardly complaining. After all, while it had been ten months since she had last walked free in Sunnydale, it had also been close to a week since she had last walked free at all. A week of emotional and physical torture, the wounds that could, long since magically healed and masked behind empty green eyes. Yet more important than all of her time spent away and locked in captivity, came the realization that come this time tomorrow night, she wouldn't even be alive to enjoy any of it, captivity included.

Sighing, Buffy forced her troubled thoughts away and led her silent companions across the crisp winter grass, her breath pluming before her in the unnaturally chill night air. Even though it had been so long since her last visit, she moved with a feline grace as she navigated around the tombstone-littered landscape with ease, her mind a million miles away from the places through which she walked. Instead, she found the odd memory filtering past her vision - better times when she had walked a similar route in the company of so many different people. Giles. Willow. Xander. Angel. Faith. All people that meant the world to her... people that could have been hurt or killed because of her... and people that she would now never see again.

Yet even that dismal thought was driven away as they crested a final rise, her mother's grave becoming visible in the distance... as well as that of the familiar tall, lanky silhouette of the boy she loved. "Harry," Buffy murmured, her heart nearly stopping in her chest as her green eyes watched him move through the familiar tombstones until he his eyes settled upon the one that belonged to her mother. Forgetting everything but the boy that she had missed so desperately in the past few days - the one that she had thought lost to her forever - Buffy began to move towards him - only to stop as she realized that the Hell Gods had recognized Harry as well, and were moving forward with much different intentions.

Without uttering a sound that surely would have broken the stillness of the night and alerted Harry to their presence, the small slayer quickly moved forward until she was standing before Dahmascus and Serantine, quietly protecting him by ensuring that he would never know of their presence - even as her heart ached for him. With a firm tilt of her chin and her narrowed green eyes, she silently conveyed her intentions to the Hell Gods, and with a slow, measured nod of their heads, the creatures accepted her terms. Yet despite the pitying frown that Bertrone leveled in her direction, Buffy still found herself unable to completely turn back from the unexpected gift of Harry standing before her. Instead, she found herself moving deeper into the shadows of a nearby tree, her eyes locked on the boy that stood quietly before her mother's grave.

With a soft sigh, Harry awkwardly bent before the large, granite tomb, one hand gingerly wrapped around the smooth leather at his waist while the other gently placed a large bouquet of winter flowers at the base of the glimmering tomb. Slowly straightening, he stared at the words etched into the smooth stone for an immeasurable moment before quietly clearing his throat. "Even though I've, uh... I've known many people who have died," he stated, his clear voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet night, "I've never really been to someone's grave before. Not even my own parents. But I... I think that Buffy would have wanted me to."

Sighing, Harry curtly shook his head as he idly glanced down at the hand that was clenched beside him. "You see, I love your daughter. A lot," he continued, his eyes slowly lifting until they were once more tracing the elegant curve of the etched letters. "And she said that she loves me too," he murmured as he shifted absently. "And I know that she loves you, more than anything and I wish... I wish that I would have had a chance to know you," he added, a small smile lifting his lips. "Buffy talks about you all the time and... well I never knew my mother, but I'd imagine that she would have been a lot like you. And... I just wanted to let you know that I will find her. I love her and I promise to take care of her.... I'll make sure that nothing bad ever happens to her," he promised, his eyes glistening in the bright moonlight. "I will do everything in my power to make sure of this," he vowed before bending low to straighten the flowers one last time before turning away and disappearing into the quiet night.

From her place in the shadows, Buffy felt the cold tear track down her pale cheek as she watched Harry's lean figure fade away. "Goodbye," she murmured, her word the softest breath of air as she ignored her body's pleadings to chase after him, if for no other reason than to hold him one last time. Then again, she was doing this so that her loved ones could live, and she wouldn't jeopardize that, no matter the selfish reason.

Purposely turning away from her mother's grave, Buffy nodded curtly to her escort before starting back the way that they had come. "Let's get out of here," she muttered, her words full of forced neutrality as she briskly crossed the green expanse. "We have a ritual to prepare for."

* * *

Rubbing his tired eyes, Harry quietly let himself into the old mansion and slipped into the darkened living room - and froze as three sets of anxious eyes lifted from the various books that they were studying and locked onto his bent form. "I thought that you would have been asleep by now," he murmured as he casually draped his thin leather jacket across a nearby armchair and settled heavily into one of the old patterned chairs that dotted the massive room.

"Nah," Xander quickly protested as he made a point to go back to studying the book that was conveniently perched in his lap. "No rest for the wicked. We're studying the.. uh... Bugaley Demon," he stated as he read the first demon-looking name that popped out of the small, scrawled text.

"The Bugaley Demon?" Harry returned, arching a fine brow beneath his perpetually messy black hair as Willow frantically nodded, even as Tara pointedly rolled her eyes.

"No, we weren't," the gentle Wiccan countered as she snapped her book closed with a loud thud. "We wanted to make sure that you were all right," she admitted as she stared at him in open compassion - something that the wizard couldn't help but once more be amazed with. After all, while he had only been staying with Buffy's friends for a few days now, working around the clock to perfect the strange Wiccan techniques that Willow and Tara employed, he still felt as though he had been embraced by the Scoobies to the point where Tara had even fallen into a strange sort of mothering role with him - a relatively common occurrence for the slender Wiccan, if Xander was to be believed.

Smiling wryly, Harry dipped his head in the older girl's direction. "I'm fine," he assured, even as he absently began to roll his neck to try and work out the kinks that so many nights of so little sleep had caused. "It was just something that I had to do," he added before quickly changing the subject, his smile growing forced. "Any word yet from the others?"

However, his question seemed to have been the wrong one to ask as identical frowns pulled at the lips of the three Scoobies before they were quickly hidden behind false smiles. "They should be arriving tomorrow afternoon," Willow offered as she shifted in her chair.

"Oh - and Sirius wanted to warn you that one of your old Professors, Professor Snape, is insisting that he tag along," Xander added as a large grimace instantly pulled at Harry's features.

"Snape?" he queried, shaking his head quickly. "He probably just wants to make sure that we don't mess this up," he muttered as he crossly abandoned his chair.

Seeing this, Tara exchanged quick glances with the others before hesitantly offering the last bit of news that had come with the strange fire call from Harry's godfather a few hours before. "And... Gregor is coming."

"_What?!_" Harry demanded, his jaw practically hitting the floor as he turned incredulous eyes to the gentle witch.

"Giles says that they can't really refuse him," Willow quickly explained as she shot her friends nervous glances. After all, if there was even one thing that they had learned from Harry during the past few days, it was his intense dislike of General Gregor after his blatant campaign for Buffy's death. "This was his battle long before it was ours-"

"But I don't trust him," Harry cut in, his eyes flashing.

"Neither do we," Xander agreed as he nodded to the two girls. "But we don't have a choice in the matter. We'll just have to make sure that he doesn't have a reason to do things his way."

Sighing, Harry wearily ran a hand through his unruly black hair as his thoughts whirled around him. The ritual was going to happen tomorrow night, whether he was ready for it or not. And was he even ready? He had only been given a mere few days to try and see if Wiccan magic could really be employed by a wizard. A few days to try and see if he could make the impossible possible once more - and he honestly didn't know if it was really a thing that he could _ever_ be ready for. But now he didn't have a choice. The reinforcements would be arriving tomorrow in the form of his family, friends and... Snape. And now Gregor as well. The man that wanted Buffy dead more than any other would be present on the critical night when so many things could already go wrong.

Curtly shaking his head, Harry quickly reached for his leather jacket and thrust his arms in the sleeves. "I'm heading out," he muttered as he roughly forced the zipper into the clasp.

"Where?" Willow asked, her words hesitant as she shifted uneasily beside her girlfriend once more.

"I want to visit Ron and Hermione," he explained as he finally fit the zipper into its place and pulled the metal up the long track.

"But the Centre's in Delaware," Xander quickly pointed out as he settled back into the soft cushions of the couch. "Do you have a portkey or something?"

"Better," Harry returned as he disappeared with a sharp crack that echoed in the large living room and around the cavernous mansion, leaving a startled Scooby gang in his wake.

"Freaking disappearing wizards..."

* * *

Striving for a patience that had long been waning, and forced instead to rely upon a bravery that was legendary for her school house, Hermione Granger slowly lifted the spoonful of pureed vegetables and gingerly brought them to Ron's waiting lips - only to have the spoon knocked aside, spilling the putrid green substance all over the sheets that covered Ron's tall frame. "Ron," she sighed, closing her eyes briefly as she mentally counted to ten before patiently reaching forward with her wet cloth to begin cleaning away the mess. "You need to stop that now. You must eat some-" she began, her gentle admonishment forgotten as the bowl of what Jarod had insisted was food, was quickly thrown across the room and splattering the wall beside Celeste's bed with the green paste. "Ron!" she gasped, her hazel eyes lifting to find Ron's beautiful eyes locked on her for the first time in days.

Feeling her heart begin to pound in her chest as her hope began to soar, she couldn't help but lean closer to the boy that she loved as his whispered name fell from her lips - only to be rocked aside as one of the large, gentle hands that she loved so much struck her in a biting slap that nearly knocked her from the bed with its force. Softly crying out as the tears burned her eyes, Hermione held a small hand to her cheek as she stared at Ron in hurt confusion - confusion that caused her mounting hope to plummet and form a hard rock in her stomach.

"Dirty, dirty whore," Ron muttered, his eyes beginning to skip all around the spacious room as he once more failed to recognize the girl that sat by his side.

Feeling a sob choke in her throat, Hermione could only stare at her boyfriend in stunned silence as Molly Weasley quietly settled a motherly hand on the girl's small shoulder. "Here now, why don't you let me have a try for a while?" she asked, forcing a smile past her own tears as she gently pulled the girl from the bed and pushed her towards the open door.

Nodding absently, Hermione wrapped her arms protectively around her waist as she slowly backed towards the door, trying her best to ignore Ginny's pitying glance from where she tended to the slayer, apparently having much the same luck, as well as those of Sydney and Jarod from where they sat beside Miss Parker. Yet much to Hermione's dismay, her escape was soon blocked by the soft planes of the person who stood in the doorway behind her. Hastily wiping away her tears, Hermione quickly turned - only to freeze as she lifted her eyes to meet those of the best friend that she hadn't seen in weeks. "H-Harry," she stammered, her face beginning to flush as she realized with a sinking heart that he had to of witnessed the entire episode - one that had become all too common in the days since she and the Weasleys had followed Ron to the Centre in hopes of somehow helping to restore to him what had been lost. A fruitless hope.

Yet whatever excuses that she had been about to make were quickly forgotten as Harry gently drew her against his chest, his long arms wrapping around her slender waist and holding her against his chest. "I know," he murmured, his words a soft whisper against her ear as he brushed a gentle kiss on the crown of her frizzy head.

And with this small admission, Hermione found whatever barriers that she had erected quickly shatter as the sobs that she had been suppressing for so long began to wrack her lean form, her hot tears staining the fine leather of his jacket as she clung to this small piece of the past that she had shared with Ron. "It's so hard," she whispered in between frantic gasps of breath, her hands twisting in the material of Harry's coat as his arms tightened around her. "I know that he's in there somewhere. I know it! But... I don't know how to bring him back," she admitted as she nuzzled her head against Harry's chest. "After... after it happened to Celeste, I-I-I had researched for so long, trying so hard to find a way to help... but I can't help," she admitted with a muffled sob as she slowly tilted her tear-stained eyes up until they were locked upon Harry's haunted face. "None of us can. I just have to face the fact. Ron is gone," she admitted, her words a soft whisper as she turned in Harry's embrace to watch as Molly tenderly cared for her son.

**To be continued...**


	21. Chapter 21

** "Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 21"**

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: To start, my apologies for the delay in getting this chapter out to you. I took it out and began to polish it off on Tuesday, only to realize that it was crap. Like the cream of crap. Thus, I've spent the last few days reworking it. And reworking it again. And then some more. And now? Well, I'm hoping that it's less crap and something more along the lines of gut-wrenching - in a non-crappy way. ;p In other words, the real fun is about to begin and I hope that you enjoy.... also, advance apologies for the mother of all cliffhangers. *grins* Had no choice - honest! ;p

* * *

As she and her companions moved through the deserted streets of Sunnydale, Buffy couldn't help but wonder what was so special about this night. In however many minutes, she was going to break down the doorways between all dimensions and temporarily release all Hell on Earth in order to send two hell gods back to their own hell dimension... but aside from that, what made this night so special? She wasn't exactly sure of the date - February, from what she had been able to figure out earlier. Friday, or so she thought. But aside from that - what made this the special night that called for her sacrifice? From the nearly full moon that was shining down upon her, Buffy was pretty sure that there wasn't an eclipse planned for the night - not to mention that she was fairly certain that it wasn't some sort of equinox or other such astrological or astronomical holiday. So what made this Friday different from any other? 

Thanks to the monks, she was just as much the Key as she was the Slayer or Buffy, and she certainly didn't _ feel_ any special key-like tingling telling her that this night was the night to play the apocalypse game. After all, hadn't she promised Harry at least a few more months without apocalyptic action back before this mess began? If it was only February, she was way off her usual destructive cycle as the scheduled apocalypse wasn't due for at least another few months. The destructive tides had always come before in the spring - not late winter...

Then again, maybe that was simply her entire lack of a death wish talking - not that the Hell Gods had been even remotely interested in any of her very valid arguments when she presented her reasoning to the duo earlier that evening.

"So... where we going?" Buffy asked as she quickened her pace to slip in between the ethereally beautiful and viciously evil creatures that she had aligned herself with, all the while trying her best not to step on Serantine's blood-red dress or the edges of Dahmascus' black robes.

"Somewhere," came Serantine's altogether dismissive and suitably vague response as she pointedly closed rank and forced Buffy to fall back into step with the French watcher.

Sighing, Buffy rolled her eyes dramatically as she muttered something extremely impolite involving aforementioned Hell Goddess and what she could do with her thumb while spinning, all the while impressing herself with her inventive creativity. Then again, she did have two weeks of forced isolation to come up with such a response. Captivity which, as she was quickly coming to realize, had left her more than a little crazy. And while she should have had experience with the post-captivity craziness, what with being a prisoner of the Centre for five months, her time spent as a zombie-killing machine after that debacle seemed to have acted as a strange sort of buffer between that craziness and her usual cheerful self - not that she had exactly been the picture of cheer post-Centre.

Distracted from her increasingly random thoughts by the strange looks of a miscellaneous pedestrian, Buffy followed the young woman's gaze down to her blood-stained and tattered cargo pants. Grimacing, she inspected the ruined article of clothing before pointedly lifting her head and sticking her tongue out at the stranger. At least Bertrone had been kind enough to return her red sweater to her, for the large turtleneck easily covered up the remainders of her fading bruises and hid her soiled tank - although, a shower would have been nice. After spending a few weeks either lying in a pool of her own blood or in the same smelly cot, she probably smelled more than a little rank. She certainly knew that she was feeling it after it had taken her at _least_ twenty minutes to work her fingers through her lank and knotted hair before finally abandoning the endeavor, hastily pulling it back in a messy twist that was held in place by a grimy nail that she had pried out of the wall behind her.

Oh yeah - she was the absolute picture of hotness on this oh-so-special night.

"Will you please stop fidgeting?" Bertrone murmured as they waited for an incredibly long crossing light to turn to the little green walking dude - something that almost caused Buffy to laugh out loud. After all, as a slayer, a watcher-trained wizard, and two ferocious Hell Gods, they were probably the most dangerous group to be walking the streets this night... and yet they were waiting for the light at the crosswalk to change?

"Sorry," Buffy murmured, feeling anything but as the light changed and she obediently followed the Hell Gods across the empty street. Actually, if she had to put a word to the current state of her emotions, she would have to go with a strange, gut-twisting mix of anxious, nervous, and a helluvah lot of regret that left an acidy taste in her mouth. Not that she had ever tasted acid before.

Anxious about what she was about to do - if she could even figure out how to pull it off.

Nervous about what it would feel like: would there be pain? What happened next? Would she... would she see her mom??

Regret for so many things that she would now never have a chance to do, for all of the things that she had never been able to tell her friends, and for... well, pretty much everything. Then again, tied in with that regret was even more resolve, for no matter how close the time came to when the shit truly hit the fan, the fact remained that her decision had been made and that she would _not_ lose anyone else - no matter the personal cost. After all, in the past nineteen years, she had already lost far too many people.

"We are here," Dahmascus stated, his voice low as he led the way towards an old, mangled fence.

"Well, now ain't this random," Buffy quipped as she took in the nondescript commercial district that they had stumbled into, rusted construction equipment towering above the fence from what was obviously some sort of work site. If she had been patrolling on a regular night, she never would have pegged the place as some sort of sacred spot where the world was about to end... sort of. Frowning, she followed the Hell God around the fence and into an open area... that was filled with so many familiar and surprising faces that Buffy nearly ran into Dahmascus' back as her mind belatedly relayed the 'stop' command to her legs. Eyes growing wide, Buffy allowed her gaze to sweep over the line of all of those that she had so fiercely been missing and fretting over - and then some, all scattered in the oddest clumps.

Harry, Willow, Xander, Tara, and Giles.

Gunn and Wesley.

Sirius and Remus.

Bill, Charlie, and Arthur Weasley.

Professors McGonagall, Dumbledore, and even Snape.

And... some weird guy that was wearing chain mail.

And all were staring at her and her companions with guarded expressions that varied down the line from outright terror to determination to love to fear.

"What are you guys doing here?" Buffy asked, trying and failing to somehow put her scattered and mixed emotions in order. She was a walking contradiction, and she knew it, for while her heart rejoiced at seeing everyone that she loved, gathered in one big group before her - her mind was busy quailing at the risk that they were taking by being there. And it was a contradiction that she was openly wearing as her voice was filled with dismay even as she was currently wearing the most stupid of grins. So many of those that she had been missing were now standing before her... and yet so many were still missing, she realized as her smile slipped into a small frown.

Faith.

Angel and Cordelia.

Samuel Fellows.

Ron and Hermione.

Jarod and Miss Parker.

It was obvious that her friends and family had somehow banded together, despite the blows that the Hell Gods had delivered upon them. And yet... where were those that were missing?

And who was the guy in the chain mail with the funky tattoo on his forehead?

"You will not have her," Giles stated, his clear voice breaking through her scattered thoughts as he took a step forward, his eyes straying from his careful inspection of his bedraggled and blood-stained slayer to glare at the two Hell Gods and the traitor that had the gall to stand before them, his eyes cold and impassive. "You will not have her and nor will you use her to destroy our world," he continued, his voice as stiff as stone as his allies straightened behind him at his words, attempting to look as intimidating as possible - and failing fairly miserably all along the board.

For a brief moment, Buffy didn't know whether to laugh, smile, or cry at her watcher's words and at the love that shown brightly in his green eyes - the love that was reflected in the eyes of those that gathered beside her watcher.... excluding Snape and the guy with the tattoo, of course. Then again, the day that Snape looked at her with anything other than barely restrained tolerance was the-

It took a small nudge from Bertrone for Buffy's scattered thoughts to once more become focused - and once they did, she realized that the French watcher had acted just in time as she felt Dahmascus tense beside her. Frowning, Buffy quickly glared at the Hell God, and at the Hell Goddess that stood beside him for good measure, before pointedly stepping forward until she was standing almost protectively before them... although whether she was protecting the hell spawn from her friends, or her friends from the hell spawn, even she wasn't quite sure.

"They won't," Buffy countered, finally breaking the silence that was so thick that she was pretty sure she could have been able to cut it with a knife... or perhaps a really big sword. "Well, more like they can't - use me to end the world, that is," she amended, a slight frown pulling at her lips as she focused on her watcher with a single-mindedness that allowed her to pretend that they were alone in the vast construction site. In a way, that made it easier to say what needed to be said, for now she no longer had to face Xander and Willow - her special Scooby gang, or any of the wizards from Harry's world or those from LA.... or Harry himself. Instead, it was just she and her watcher, the student and the teacher together again as she tried to find the words that would explain to him in just a few minutes, that which had taken her over two weeks to understand herself. "You see, it turns out that they can't stick me in their big cosmic lock and give me a turn. I'm like the little key that can," she ventured as she shrugged slightly. "Only I can make me work," she added as she idly wondered if it was really the two weeks of alone time that was causing the inane comments, or rather the idea that she was about to commit suicide that was finally doing her in.

For a moment more, Giles merely stared at her in confusion as he visibly attempted to translate her jumbled words into some semblance of normal English - and quickly gave up as he realized that Buffy's colorful speech was even more... colorful, than usual.

Sighing, Buffy curtly shook her head. "They can't make me do anything," she clarified as Giles' expression shifted into that which was rapidly approaching a sort of overjoyed awe. "And believe me when I say that they tried," the slayer added with a small, perfunctory glare at the two hell gods.

"Th-they can't?" he stammered, his eyes growing wide as he instinctively reached for his glasses.

"Nope - apparently the force is with me and me alone," Buffy confirmed with a small nod as she threw a weak grin in Xander's direction – only to scowl as with that small glance, her little fantasy world finally shattered. For in that one moment, the enormous reality of what she was about to do finally hit home with a crash that was almost physically jarring. Instantly she sobered as the silly smile slipped from her lips, her eyes betraying a serious gravity that was far older than nineteen. She was going to die. She was going to willingly offer herself as a sacrifice to save the world... and she was going to die. She wasn't going to see the sun rise the following morning; she wasn't going to prepare witty dialogue to use against her captors that night; she was never again going to be _free. _She'd never hang out with Willow or Xander again; she'd never get lectured by Giles; she'd never get to kiss Harry... she, Buffy Anne Summers, was going to die. "Which means that I have to be the one to make it happen," Buffy continued, her words as flat as her eyes as her blinders finally fell off and the rest of the world came rushing back.

The sound of chirping crickets as they muffled the dismayed murmurs of her friends and allies.

The cool, winter wind that lifted her lank, greasy hair and carried the salty scent of the ocean to her nostrils.

The hard-packed earth that pressed against the soles of her boots as her fingers clenched into painful fists at her sides... and through it all, Giles' heavy gaze never left her slender form.

"But you... you're not going to... to-"

"I am," Buffy countered evenly as she allowed her eyes to slip past Giles until they swept down the line of those that she faced. There was pain on the faces of her friends; pain, betrayal, disbelief, horror, and so much sadness and suffering. None of them wanted this and no one understood... but how could they? They hadn't been told the truth. They didn't know what her sacrifice would mean for the world. "It's the only way to send them back to where they belong."

"Buffy, you can't," Giles quickly stated, his eyes flashing at his slayer as his shoulders began to shake. "You will be condemning the people of this world to a fate worse than death! The world will end and-"

"No, it won't," Buffy interrupted as she smiled at the man that she had always loved as a father. "Do you really think that the Gods would be all hot and bothered over the Key if they couldn't turn it off when finished with it? If using me lowered the barriers forever, their world would become just as ruined as ours. The barriers will come back up when the little key that is... isn't," she explained as she shrugged helplessly.

Frown deepening, Giles stared at his slayer in confusion. She looked so young as she faced off before them, her shoulders slumped and burdened by the weight that she carried. But more than that... she looked defeated and it was the defeat that he couldn't understand. "You can do that? You can… make it stop?" he returned, even as he glimpsed the truth that was hidden in Buffy's eyes - a truth that was mired within an eerily familiar gaping pool of resignation and despair. After all, he had seen this same haunted expression in his young slayer's green eyes only a few years back. He had seen that same expression on the day that his slayer had forced him to reveal the truth behind the prophecy that foretold her death at the hands of the Master. And in that moment, he understood far more than he wanted to. They all did.

"You can't make it stop, can you, Buff?" Xander asked as he stepped beside the watcher, his brown eyes beginning to simmer with a strange mix of anger and… well, it was pretty much all anger that was rolling off of her best friend's broad shoulders.

"No," Buffy admitted, a small frown twisting her lips.

"Buffy, there has to be a better way," Willow implored as she slipped her hand into Tara's comforting grip, all the while trying her best to ignore the glares that Dahmascus and Serantine were sending in her direction - glares that were promising imminent violence if she didn't stay quiet.

"Yeah, well I'm open to suggestions," Buffy replied, her tone sharper than she had intended as she crossed her arms across her chest. And yet the response that she received was certainly _not_ the response that she had anticipated.

* * *

Heart clenching painfully within his chest, Harry watched the heated exchange between Buffy and her watcher through shuttered eyes. It had been two weeks since he had last seen Buffy and in those two weeks, he had dreamed about their reunion almost every minute of every day. Yet in all of his boyish fantasies, he had never quite imagined Buffy looking so... wretched. For while the sight of her made his body ache with the need to hold her in his arms, the sight of her also caused him to burn with anger as the evidence of her forced captivity with the Hell Gods was openly displayed by how loosely her clothing now settled on her gaunt frame, by the sickly pallor of her waxy skin, by the lank and dirty hair that hung in loose, limp strands around her pointed face, by the blood stains that colored her cargos a deep, stiff burgundy color - and by the dark shadows that lined her emerald eyes. She looked positively wretched - and yet at the same time, she was the most beautiful sight that he had ever seen.

Forcing his eyes away from her battered appearance, Harry allowed his gaze to slide over to his wizened headmaster and his godfather, both of whom were watching him with barely concealed expressions of concern. Tipping his head towards Giles and the conversation that had captivated the Hell Gods' attention, he nodded briefly in an open request for time. All he needed was the time and the chance to see his plan through. And if he didn't... if he didn't, then Sirius and Professor Dumbledore knew that it would fall to them and the other wizards and muggles that had willingly joined them in a last ditch effort to prevent the Hell Gods from using Buffy... or from Buffy using herself, if he overheard correctly.

Frowning, Harry forced his eyes away from their quiet support and instead nodded quickly to Willow and Tara before closing his eyes and beginning the process of blocking the rest of the world out. Slowly, step by step and sense by sense, he allowed himself to be cut off from the world as he first closed his eyes against vision, and then stifled his nose against scent, and then cut his mouth from taste, and then freed his mind from the earth beneath him - and finally blocked out the sound that filled his world around him. Locked, then, in a dark, quiet void that he had created, he slowly allowed the one sense that was his and his alone to finally reign free - and was almost immediately bowled over by the magic that hummed in the very air that his lungs took in with each and every breath - a magic that was so very different and so much darker than that which he had practically been raised on at Hogwarts. After all, he was now located on the mouth of Hell, a place where the magic was so concentrated, so dark, and so very powerful, and yet somehow... somehow it seemed to pale in comparison to that which emanated from the two gods that his senses were tentatively drawing towards.

Grimacing, his forehead wrinkling beneath his messy black hair, Harry slowly and painfully drew himself towards the two swirling vortexes that lay at the core of Dahmascus and Serantine. There was so much power there - so much power that was distributed amongst the hundreds of thousands of pieces that made up each whole - pieces that he somehow wanted to free from their prison and allow them to return to where they were needed. Cautiously he extended invisible fingers and attempted to pick at the outer layers that made up the Hell Gods - and nearly yelped as he felt himself blown back by the many different lights that seemed to be restrained within the two beings. Green eyes flying open, breath ragged in his chest, Harry trembled from his position between Willow and his godfather as he lifted his chin and looked directly into the dark, angry eyes of Dahmascus and Serantine.

"Yeah, well I'm open to suggestions," Buffy muttered, her words carrying in the dark night and hanging there for the slightest of moments - until all hell broke loose as Dahmascus and Serantine started forward, their eyes locked on Harry.

Seeing this, Giles quickly fell back into line even as he and the others lifted their wands and their weapons. "Now!" Dumbledore called out, his voice strong and carrying over the cold February wind that whipped at their cloaks.

"Bring down the slayer before she begins the ritual!" Gregor bellowed as he lifted his sword to parry the stunning blow of Serantine, the gleaming blade cutting through flesh and striking bone - only to have her toss him aside like a random piece of baggage.

Stunned, Harry fell back a few steps as his friends and family moved in between he and the Gods that were trying to kill him with a relish that they hadn't shown in days, even as Buffy tried to come in between them all.

"You call this a better idea?" he heard her shout above the melee as she pushed Xander out of the way of Serantine's path, only to yelp as Bill's stunning spell sizzled by her ear. "Hey, watch that!" she cried even as Bertrone, of all people, hastily erected a shield that sheltered them both from the magical and physical onslaught - and which left no more barriers between the Gods and Harry and the others.

"Get him!" Dahmascus roared as he bodily lifted Gunn and sent him crashing into Professor McGonagall as though neither were of concern. And in reality, neither were, for apparently Harry hadn't been as stealthy in his initial contact with the Hell Gods as he had hoped and what little he had done had been enough to spook the two Hell Gods. And a spooked Hell God, as he and the others were coming to see, was not a good thing.

Hurriedly closing his eyes once more, Harry attempted to block out the sounds of the battle that was being waged around him, even as he forgot his earlier hesitation and pressed against the barriers that continued to hold him at bay. He had always needed Buffy's permission before he could access the source of her powers, and as perspiration began to dot his forehead, he quickly realized that this case would be no different - and that was a permission that would never be granted by the two. Which meant that he had to override that barrier.

Gritting his teeth, Harry pulled at the magic that made up his own source of wizarding magic - magic that he had inherited from his parents' powerful union in addition to the magic that he had been imbued with on the night that Voldemort had left him with a lightning-shaped scar - magic that made him one of the most powerful wizards, if not _the_ most powerful wizard of their time.... and magic that was woefully inadequate to get the job done, just as he had suspected it would.

Nearly panting with exertion now, Harry resolutely turned away from his failures and instead fell upon the next step. With a grimace of distaste, he slowly lowered his invisible fingers into the murk that made up the Hellmouth's dark magic that seemed to hum around his lean form - and then he drew upon it, just as Willow and Tara had instructed. Tensing at the flood of darkness as it seared through his veins, Harry felt his very breath tear from his aching lungs as he directed that power towards the Hell Gods in a rush that burned unlike anything he had ever before experienced. His body humming now with magic, both dark and light, Harry felt all of his senses scream at him in an agony that seemed to swell and build until it eclipsed even the memory of pain from the night that he had defeated Voldemort. And as his legs collapsed beneath him and as he tumbled to his knees, a strangled cry of triumph was torn from his lips as Harry felt the barriers crumble beneath the terrible onslaught as two other screams joined in his, as Dahmascus and Serantine felt their very insides begin to be torn apart.

"Harry? Harry!" Buffy cried out, her frantic voice lost beneath the tortured screams of her boyfriend and the two Hell Gods that had been busy cutting a path through her friends. She didn't understand this. She didn't understand any of it. One moment she had been preparing for her sacrifice and the next her _friends_ had begun attacking Dahmascus and Serantine, Bertrone, and most importantly - they had begun to attack _her_. All too quickly the minutes had become lost beneath a frustrating battle against whatever protected her from the fight, even as she had been forced to watch the Hellish Duo begin to pick their way through her friends' defense in an obvious effort to reach Harry... and then they had all begun to scream.

"Let... me... go!" Buffy screamed as she beat her fists against the barrier, tears beginning to trail unnoticed down her cheeks as she struggled against the magical hold - only to stumble forward as Bertrone finally relented, his gray eyes wide and wonderingly locked on the sight of the two Hell Gods on their knees and in untold agony. Agony that was mirrored within Harry.

Within seconds Buffy had crossed the small area that separated her from the dark-haired wizard as she tumbled to her knees in the hard dirt before him, Sirius quickly settling beside her. "Harry?" she cried as she reached a hand out to touch him - only to have it pushed away as Willow and Tara appeared at her side.

"It's okay," Willow assured, even as she tore at her lip to the point of breaking the skin. "He-he knows what he's doing," she stated, desperately hoping that she was speaking the truth as her worried eyes turned back to the boy who was becoming more pale with each passing second. "Oh, please know what you're doing!" she added, her plea a soft whisper as Tara quickly took her hand, her lover's face pale and stricken.

And Harry did know what he was doing. At least... he did know what he was doing until he began to lose control. Something inside of him was cracking and breaking, and whether that was his hold, his resolve, or perhaps even his mind, he wasn't quite certain. All he knew was that the darkness was burning him - tearing him, piece by piece. The darkness was consuming his light and eating him whole. It was... it was killing him. The dark magic was powerful to the point of intoxicating, unending and eternal... and with each passing second, Harry was quickly coming to the conclusion that he wasn't any of these things, and because of that, his light was dying. He was dying. He was...

Light. There was magic beside him and it was so familiar, so powerful... and it was so blindingly light in comparison to the darkness that was overtaking him. And like a drowning man would grasp onto a piece of driftwood with a hold that was like steel, he found himself reaching out and grasping at the source of the light - grasping and easily breaking through the barrier that protected it as he pulled on that strength with everything that he had. And then the light was rushing into his veins as Buffy's scream rent the night air, a familiar source of magic that wasn't dark and polluted like the magic that was coursing through his body - twisting it - breaking it. No, this magic was beautiful and pure and wonderful and... and without even consciously realizing what he was doing, Harry found himself greedily taking it all in a vain attempt to somehow balance the darkness with the light. Yet it didn't end there.

All too soon that source of light was exhausted and his body eagerly sought out the next closest source, adding Sirius' tortured cry to that of the others. But even Sirius wasn't enough, and quickly the horrible chorus included the agonized cries of Giles, Remus, Charlie, Bill, Arthur, Bertrone, McGonagall, Snape, and even Dumbledore as Harry unwittingly drained one pure magical source and then sought out another, desperate to somehow balance the dark with the light in an attempt to somehow salvage his own tenuous hold on life. And with each new cry of agony, the Hell Gods' evident distress seemed to increase until their pain seemed paramount with a blinding light that began to build until the point in which those remaining had to protect their eyes from the light. A light that seemed to absorb everything, even sound, until it exploded in a magical outlash that sent everyone flying.

And then there was silence.

* * *

Sighing tiredly, Hermione forced her puffy eyes to move over the small words of the text that she had cradled in her lap, one hand absently following the lines that she read even as the other traced small, soothing circles over the sheet that covered Ron's sleeping form. Hearing a quiet flow of soft, murmured words, she lifted her head briefly to watch as Jarod, who was cradled in a matching chair, his hands tightly clasping Miss Parker's in his own, assured his lover of the love that would forever rest between them Smiling sadly, Hermione tore her eyes away and allowed the couple that small bit of privacy as she returned to her book - only to allow it to fall unnoticed to the ground before her as Ron's back suddenly, violently arched in the bed before her, the machines at his, Miss Parker's and Celeste's beds suddenly going crazy. "What's going on?" she demanded, her eyes quickly lifting to see that Miss Parker and Celeste were held in the same terrifying grip that seemed to pin Ron's shoulders deep into the mattress even as his navel strove for the ceiling.

"I don't know!" Jarod returned, his loud voice booming over the sound of the beeping machinery. "They just-" he broke off, as in unison the three bodies crashed onto the beds as though three sets of invisible strings had been cut.

"Ron!" Hermione cried, her voice cracking as she instinctively reached for his long hand and cradled it against her chest - and then froze as her boyfriend's head of matted red hair turned until his bleary, hazel eyes were blinking in her direction.

For a moment, he seemed to merely stare at her in confusion, his mouth opening and closing before one word fell from his parched lips. "'Mione?"

Stunned, Hermione could only stare at her boyfriend in growing wonder, barely daring to hope that this time it could be real as she tentatively lifted his hand to her lips as she pressed a soft kiss against his skin. "Is it... is it really you?" she murmured, the tears already pooling and pouring down her puffy skin.

"I... I was so lost," Ron murmured in return, his words sounding dry in a throat that had seen little use in the past few days. Yet in his eyes Hermione saw the only truth that she needed to see, for in his eyes, she didn't see a lost and helpless soul. Instead, once more Hermione could find Ron Weasley in those hazel eyes. The boy that had saved her life from a troll when she was but a first year, the one that had later filled the void in her empty life, and later still.. the one that had managed to fill the void in her empty heart.

And as the sobs broke from her lips as she practically collapsed upon Ron's chest, his large hands tangling themselves in her hair as he held her close; and as Jarod cupped Miss Parker's cheeks in his hands, his lips desperately seeking hers as she clung to the soft material of his shirt; only Celeste was left alone in her bed as her shaken blue eyes stared at the others in blatant confusion. She, too, had been lost for so long - far, far longer than the others. It was almost as though she had watched her life since that fateful day from the back row of a large theatre, never able to take part. It was all a massed confusion, and yet through it all, only one thought and one person occupied her thoughts. "B'one?"

* * *

Grimacing, Buffy felt the pain course through her body in waves that she remembered only too well. She felt weak, sick and so tired... so very tired. In fact, the only thing that she could possibly want to do at this moment was sleep for at least the next twenty years. And maybe then some. She remembered this weakness and this pain, and she remembered the grueling work to get back to feeling like herself. And she remembered the sleep and the comfort that it brought... All she wanted was to sleep, yet the small hand that continuously brushed against her cheek was refusing her that small comfort.

Groggily, Buffy slowly blinked open her red-rimmed green eyes to see the face of a stranger. Frowning, she looked into the large brown eyes of a little girl, one so young that she couldn't have been more than five years old with brown hair and pale, delicate features that were off-set by the dark sky above her. Confused and intrigued despite herself, Buffy pushed back her body's demands and slowly, painfully pushed herself up until she was looking at the small girl that was kneeling beside her, swathed in a familiar, blood-red dress that was so large that the long lengths of material were pooled around the girl's slight frame.

Not quite trusting herself to speak, Buffy slowly turned away from the child and cast her gaze about the unfamiliar landscape that was dotted with the forms of many people - all unmoving save for the small boy, obviously the girl's twin, that was kneeling beside a figure that was sprawled a short distance from her. A very familiar figure, one with short, unruly black hair, black, wire-rimmed glasses that were skewed on his handsome features, and a lightning-shaped scar that marred his smooth forehead.

"Harry?" Buffy murmured, trying to put her thoughts in order, and then freezing as her memories of the night's events came rushing back. Confusion mounting, she quickly turned back to the little girl. "Who are you?" she asked, her eyes scouring the child before turning towards the crunching, staggering steps of Willow, Tara, Xander, Gunn, Wesley, and the stranger in the chain mail - all of whom looked decidedly worse for wear as they sported a number of bruises, scrapes, bumps, cuts - and what looked to be a nasty broken arm on Gunn.

"It's them!" Willow whispered, having overheard Buffy's question as she and the others froze some distance away from the two children.

"Them who?" Buffy returned, frowning softly as she weakly shifted - briefly contemplating an attempt to make her way towards Harry before deciding that it wasn't worth the effort. Or rather, that she just didn't seem to have the strength to make it that far, let alone _any_where.

"These must be the two kids that Serantine and Dahmascus merged with when they came here," Willow quickly explained as she eyed the twins carefully. "Giles told us about them. And their aging must have slowed dramatically-"

"Yeah, I'd call that dramatic," Xander cut in as he frowned at the kids. "They're almost five hundred years old."

Growing more, rather than less confused by Willow's explanation, Buffy turned back to the little girl. "You... you have them... inside you?" she asked, trying to wrap her mind around the concept. After all, while she certainly _had_ been there for the conversation months ago when Hermione told them that the gods had originally inhabited the bodies of mortals... well, she really hadn't thought that those mortals were still inside of them. Or that they were so little.

Nodding solemnly, the little girl slowly lifted her hand from Buffy's dirt-stained cheek and pressed it against her heart, as though signifying the place in which she held the Hell Goddess. Or Hell God. Really, Buffy supposed that the little girl could have been either.

"Harry did it," Willow murmured, once more breaking Buffy from her rather muddled thoughts as she stared at the twins with open excitement. "He took back what the gods had taken!" she added as she noticed Buffy's mounting confusion, her eyes darting to where Harry lay sprawled on the ground, the little boy kneeling beside his head. "He was able to weaken them enough that Dahmascus and Serantine had to withdraw into their mortal prison!"

"Right," Buffy murmured, her frown deepening as she glanced between her boyfriend's limp body and that of the two children. What she really wanted was to once more check on Harry to make sure that he was even still breathing, or even the bodies of the others that littered the strange lot they were in - yet once more, her confusion, weakness, and all over poopy feeling made her ask another question instead of heeding her heart's ardent request. "So... it's permanent?"

"Uhm... no," Willow admitted quietly, her joyous expression faltering. "In time they'll grow strong enough to come back."

Numb, Buffy slowly shook her head as she tried to understand Willow's words. Come back? But Harry had just used all of his stuff to get rid of them. He had just used all of _everyone's_ stuff to get rid of them. How could they come back? And _when_ would they come back? Shaking her head once more, this time more viciously until she felt as though it was going to fall from her wobbly neck, Buffy looked at the little girl in horrified understanding - an understanding that seemed to be shared by the small, innocent child as the little girl slowly nodded her head, her little brown eyes wet with unshed tears.

"There is... there is one way," Wesley added, his voice faltering as he turned away from the small children to look at his former slayer with sad eyes, "to ensure that they will never again be able to come back and harm our world."

"One way?" Buffy returned, her mind once more struggling to keep up with the conversation. If only she wasn't so tired! So very tired!! Everything hurt from the tips of her hair to the toenails on her feet. All of it hurt and she wanted nothing more than to lay back and let it all just go away. But it seemed that no one was willing to grant her this small mercy. Instead, it seemed as though they wanted something from her. After all, she was the Slayer. She was the Key. She was Buffy Summers, she who had died once already for her freaking destiny, who was prepared to make the ultimate Sacrifice for everyone, and apparently they wanted something else. Another way to keep them... and suddenly Buffy understood what it was that Wesley was asking of her. What they were all asking of her. Not because they were mean and being unfair, but because it was her duty. It was her legacy. It was her destiny.

"No," Buffy returned, her voice flat as she slowly shook her head. "You can't ask me to do that. You can't ask me to kill them!" she continued, her voice growing heated. "There has to be another way!"

"There isn't," Wesley countered, his eyes mirroring the pain that seemed to swell within Buffy as she truly understood the extent of Harry's plan - a plan that she doubted even Harry himself had truly seen the end of. "There isn't-"

"There is," the little girl countered, speaking for the first time in a voice that had never before been used, save to squall for milk when she was but a tiny child, nursing on her mother's breast. Yet while the voice that spoke was obviously that of the apparent five-year old child that knelt beside the slayer, the eyes that held her own were eyes that were far older, far wiser, far more mature and too tortured from centuries of imprisonment. They were not the eyes of a five year old. "Send us home."

Visibly blanching, Buffy quickly shook her head, once more feeling as though one more fierce movement like that was sure to send it rolling off her neck and onto the ground beside her. "I can't do that," she murmured, hoping that she had somehow heard wrong. "I'd-"

"Send us home," the girl's twin interrupted, causing Buffy to quickly turn to stare at the brown-haired child in confusion - and in horror at the jagged piece of glass that he was pressing tightly against Harry's jugular. "Send us home or he dies."

"What are you doing?" Buffy quickly demanded, her mind frantically trying to comprehend how the little boy could be threatening Harry's life just after he had saved it. He had set them _free_ from their imprisonment! "You can't... you're just a little kid!" she spluttered even as the man in the chain mail quickly stepped forward.

"No they're not," Gregor countered as he eyed the two children with narrowed eyes. "These are my great ancestors."

"Well la-de-freaking-dah!" Buffy quickly spat out as she glared at the offending stranger. "And who in the hell are you?"

"That's, uh... that's General Gregor," Willow stammered, her face pale and her eyes never straying from the glass that was even now cutting into the soft flesh of Harry's neck, a stream of red trailing from the wound. "He's our local representative from the Knights of Byzantium."

"The Knights of What?" Buffy demanded, frantically trying to follow the conversation and desperately ignoring the fact that Harry didn't even seem to realize that someone was busy sawing into his neck.

"Buffy, think about it," Wesley patiently cut in as the slayer desperately focused on her former watcher. "The only thing that these two have ever known is the captivity into which they were born. They are not five years old. They are five _hundred_ years old," he explained, his eyes locked on the small children. "They have spent the past five centuries locked within Dahmascus and Serantine. It is the only thing that they have ever known."

Intellectually - or, at least as intellectually as she was capable of thinking at the moment - Buffy understood what Wesley was trying to say. After all, she could read the truth behind his words in the tortured eyes of the little girl that sat beside her. Captivity within the Hell Goddess was the only thing that this little girl had ever known - had ever experienced. Thus, was it really any wonder that after five hundred years of such an experience, it was the only thing that she wanted back?

"Send us home or he dies," the little boy repeated, his glass shard cutting just a little bit deeper as Buffy frantically looked towards the child, only to recoil as the little girl continued to stroke her pale, tear-streaked face. And as she looked at Harry's still form, she knew what she had to do... what she had always known that she had to do. What she had been prepared to do.

"Buffy, you can't," Willow whispered, the tears streaking down her own pale, dirt-smudged face as she pleaded with her best friend. "You'll-"

"I know," Buffy murmured, her body growing numb once more as she desperately focused on her best friend. "But I can't... I can't just sit here and watch..." she mumbled, hardly aware of the fact that the little girl had drawn away to settle on Harry's other side, even as Willow tentatively stepped forward until she was kneeling before the small slayer. "Willow, I love him," Buffy admitted, her eyes straying to Harry's pale and unmoving form as the tears blurred her vision and as the pain became too much. "I love him," she repeated as she turned and collapsed into Willow's open arms, the sobs choking her petite frame as Xander joined their little circle, his strong arms encircling them both as the original Scoobies were reunited once more... for one last time.

She hadn't wanted this sacrifice. She knew that she hadn't wanted it from the beginning and for a moment, she thought that she had somehow avoided it and evaded its pinched grasp. But now... but now it was back again, and all because she was unable to take two innocent, human lives, and because she loved one Harry Potter far too much to let him go. Apparently, she really did love him so much that she would rather give her life for his, to make the ultimate sacrifice. The sacrifice that fate had deigned for their slayer.

Stilling her muffled sobs, Buffy slowly and resolutely pulled herself together. Harry didn't have time for this. None of them did. "Just... just tell Giles that I love him," she murmured as she forced a teary smile for Xander and Willow - and tried to ignore the fact that similar tears streaked the faces of her friends. "And... tell him I'm sorry," she murmured before faltering and turning to look once more back at the boy who would never forgive her for what she was going to do. "And... and tell... just tell Harry.... just tell him that..."

"We will," Willow assured with a watery smile, saving her friend from trying to find words that were incapable of doing justice to what she wanted to say. And while she didn't really think that there were even words in the English language to do it justice, Willow somehow knew that she and Xander would have to find a way. "We will," she promised as she hugged her best friend close.

"We love you, Buffy," Xander murmured as hugged his best friend once more. "We always have, and we always will," he added before forcing himself to release the small slayer and gently pulled Willow away, even as everything inside of him screamed at him to never let go. After all, Buffy was asking something of he and Willow that was beyond hard. That was beyond painful. She was asking them to give her up without a fight. After all that she had done for them and their world... she was asking them to let her go quietly from an existence that had always been filled with so much fighting, pain, death... and so much love. And perhaps the one thing that allowed Xander to do so, more than anything else, was the look in Buffy's emerald green eyes that told him that she wasn't ready to give up on life. She wasn't ready to accept what came next or to stop fighting for this world.

Buffy had a world of fight left in her, and no matter what life had handed to her, she had always found the strength to keep fighting - and all because of the love that she held for each and every one of them, as well as the love that they held for her. And it was because of this love that Buffy had no choice but to do this, because if they refused to let her and if in doing so Harry was killed... she would finally lose that spark of life. She would lose the will to keep fighting as it would be the final straw that would finally be one burden too many. It was a paradox, because by allowing her to continue, they were condemning a girl that wanted to live, but by forcing her to live, they would create a girl that wanted to die. And in the end... somehow it seemed more fitting and more _kind_ even to allow Buffy the final grace of going out from a world that she still loved. 

She was going to die a hero.

She was going to die a Slayer.

Nodding once to give Xander her final thanks for so much more than could be put into simple words, Buffy closed her eyes and focused on what was inside of her - and nearly laughed aloud at the dismal answer. For, once more, at first glance there was _ nothing_ inside of her as Harry had effectively drained her slayer core. Again. Yet when she took a closer look, what she found was something shiny, sizzling, and full of power.

She found her Key.

Slightly in awe of this strange energy inside of her, Buffy felt a small smile pull at her lips as she hesitantly toyed with the magicks that felt older than time itself. That all of this wonderful, pure energy could have somehow been buried, and almost hidden beneath her slayer stuff was almost mind-boggling, yet somehow it had. And somehow.. Buffy couldn't help but wonder if she would have been able to even access her innate Keyness if Harry hadn't of gotten all of the slayer stuff out of the way in the first place. That thought, more than anything else, began to strengthen her resolve and to convince her that she was doing the right thing. After all, for such a thing to be true, perhaps her sacrifice really had been fated. Or perhaps it wasn't a sacrifice at all. Perhaps this was merely her destiny, just as being called as the Slayer, meeting Willow, Xander and Giles, defeating the Master, loving Angel, defeating the Judge and Angelus, the Mayor, her mother's death, the Centre and Voldemort... Harry. It was all a part of her history and her future. Her destiny.

Smiling softly, Buffy slowly began to twist her mind and her senses around the light that filled her body, unaware of the green energy that began to crackle around her skin and sizzle in the cool night air. Instantly everyone began to back away even as Buffy's smile slipped, only to be replaced by a grimace of pain. But even the pain seemed to be a secondary thought as the energy consumed her every thought and action, slowly straightening her spine and lifting her small body until she was kneeling on the loose dirt. Then, as the energy pulled her muscles taut, Buffy felt everything seem to click into place as her key was finally inserted into that one big lock as a scream was ripped from her throat... and as the barriers between dimensions began to crumble as the world was torn asunder.

With agonized shrieks, particles of energy flew from Buffy's body and pierced the very fabrics of reality, causing the ground to buckle and bright rents to appear in the sky. Monsters and creatures of nightmares, beautiful and ethereal creations of dreams poured from these fallen portals and into Earth's reality as everything began to become one. And in the chaos, two small children slipped through one doorway as quietly as they had come into this world while Buffy Summers - the Slayer, the Key - knew nothing more as the screams of a slayer once more rent the chaotic night.

**To be continued...**


	22. Chapter 22

"Sacrifice Par Amarth: Chapter 22"

by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: Look to first chapter for disclaimers and story ratings.

Author's Note: Please look to the end of this chapter for my usual notes! And thank you and please enjoy! ;p

* * *

As a piercing scream broke through the all-encompassing blanket that had smothered Harry's mind, the young wizard felt the peace that the lulling, muffled silence that had soothed his hurts, evaporate like cool fog on a rare sunny morning at Hogwarts. Muscles unconsciously tensing as his body instinctively tried to draw away from whatever screamed such torment, Harry nearly gasped as his senses became overloaded with a startling rush of sensory input.

Touch. Pain... his body seemed to radiate it even as rocks and stone bit through the thin leather jacket and pressed uncomfortably against his back. His head pounded as pain flared from a tender area on the back of his head that felt sticky and wet. Pain seared from his neck where an aching, trembling hand felt a small stream of warm, thick fluid trickle from a small wound. And worse of all, his entire body _ached_ like it never had before. He felt so weak and drained and so very tired as he seemed to burn inside and out, as though a great current of energy had torn through him, even as another kind of energy seemed to prickle his skin and cause the fine hairs to rise with a static charge.

Smell. Blood... he could smell the rich tang of the blood that matted his hair and coursed down his neck in a small rivulet, burning his nostrils even as it mixed with the greasy tang of the dirty ground he lay upon.

Taste. Copper... he could _taste_ the coppery blood that seemed to dance on his tongue and caused his stomach to violently protest the vile fluid.

Sound. Screaming... someone's agonized screams seemed to cause the very air around him to vibrate with sound as a strange wind buffeted his downed form. There was nothing outside the screams... well, that and a strange crackling noise that his floundering mind was unable to place.

Sense. Power.... unequivocal power. It was strange to somehow think that mere moments (or was it hours?) before, Harry had nearly been blown away by the power that was contained within the two Hell Gods. A power unlike anything he had ever felt before... until now. The power that bombarded that one, newly awakened sense was enough to almost drown out every single one of his other senses. It was immense. It was raw. And it was tearing him and everything around him apart.

Sight. darkness... and light. Eyes slowly blinking open, it took Harry a moment to discern the dark night sky amidst the searing light that burned everything that it seemed to touch. Confused, his eyes narrowed as he took in the shifting hues of the dark night sky, from the very blackest of blacks to varying shades of red and purple and even green, before exploding in light that seemed to rip the very sky itself until gaping chasms were opened from which the most unbelievable creatures emerged.

Stiffening, Harry slowly, painfully used his elbows to lift his upper body as his aching head turned towards the source of the power - and froze as his eyes lit on Buffy's small form. She was kneeling upon her knees a few feet before him, her slim hips clothed in blood-stained khaki while her blood-red sweater shifted with the torrent of wind that wrapped around her small form. Head tilted back to the heavens, her long blond hair had fallen loose from its restraint and whipped around her head, her green eyes pinched closed and her arms held out to either side as though offering some kind of plea towards the Heavens... and with a start he realized that her beautiful lips were spread wide in the very agonized scream that had woken him from his wearied slumber as green energy seemed to rip through her small form, battering her body and causing it to convulse even as it flew from her and attacked the very air that surrounded them - and as it brought down the barriers between all realities.

"No," Harry whispered, his fractured mind stumbling over the confusing pieces as he slowly, painfully pushed himself forward until he was sitting upright. He didn't understand this - none of this! He had drawn upon the darkest of magics, the magic of the Mouth of Hell itself in order to defeat the Hell Gods in a move that had very nearly destroyed himself. And it had worked. He had _felt_ it work and everything should have been fine. He had done his part and he had saved them all... so why had Buffy used the key? He didn't understand and without understanding, he felt his reality begin to crumble. Literally and figuratively.

Turning away from the sight that seemed to burn spots in his vision, Harry took in the battlefield that had become scattered with the fallen forms of his wizarding friends - those that he had unconsciously drawn upon in order to ease the battering that his body had received from the dark magic. And beyond them stood those that he had been unable to draw upon - the muggles that contained no power of their own. A few feet away stood Xander, Willow and Tara - the three friends clinging to one another with tears in their eyes and pain etched into their faces. Beside them stood Wesley and Gunn - the dark-skinned man turning away from the breathtaking sight even as the other watched her resolutely through saddened eyes. And beyond them stood General Gregor, his wide eyes locked upon the sight that he and his brethren had worked for five centuries to prevent. Yet even as he watched, the General of the Knights of Byzantium seemed to overcome his shocked awe as he slowly reached down and unsheathed his sword. Confused, Harry merely watched for a moment as Buffy continued to decimate their world even as the General began to advance on her oblivious form - before everything clicked.

Stumbling to his feet and forgetting the pain and weakness that had laid him low only minutes before, Harry pushed himself forward until he was standing protectively before Buffy, his green eyes narrowed upon the knight. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his eyes never straying from the General's impassive brown eyes.

"I'm fulfilling the Key's last request," the man stated, his voice cool as he went to push past Harry - and froze as the girl's friends seemed to finally take notice of the building confrontation and moved to flank the young man. "This is the only way to raise the barriers once more."

For a moment - the slightest of moments - Harry faltered. He hadn't prepared for this eventuality for they had never worked out what they would do should the Key actually be activated - and now Harry found himself floundering. Helpless, he quickly looked to the others for answers, yet they all looked as lost as he. Even Wesley seemed torn, his thin shoulders lifting slightly in a gesture of helplessness that seemed somehow wrong from the brilliant man. For how much value could they place on one life when so many others hung in the balance? Even if that one person was their friend and, in Harry's case, the other half of his heart?

"If I don't, everyone will die," Gregor pressed, his eyes hard. "Think to your friends. Your family. Think to those you love who you will lose if we don't do this."

And Harry did. He thought of Sirius and Remus. He thought of Ron and Hermione. He thought of Dumbledore and McGonagall and Hagrid and even Snape. He thought of Xander and Willow and Tara. He thought of Giles and... and he thought of Buffy. And in that moment, he knew that he couldn't lose any of them. _Any_ of them.

"I won't lose her," Harry stated, his voice firm as he dared the man to disagree. Then again, his threat was baseless and they both knew it as Harry visibly struggled to even stay standing, his previous struggle with the Hell Gods having drained everything there was in him. There was no way that he could prevent Gregor from going through with what he wanted to do from the beginning - but as everyone had tried to tell Harry and Buffy all along, they weren't alone in this. A fact that was quickly proven as Wesley, of all people, lifted a crossbow from the folds of his long jacket and leveled it at the general's temple - just as Buffy's scream finally fell silent, her arms falling limply to her sides as her head dipped towards her chest.

"You have five minutes," Wesley stated, his shadowed eyes darting briefly to nod in Buffy's direction. "That's all that we can give you."

"Then it'll have to be enough," Harry returned as he half-staggered, half-limped towards Buffy's crackling form. In a way, he was almost thankful for his immense weakness for that meant that he didn't have the strength to slow his momentum as the energy that crackled around Buffy's form slammed into him in waves of searing pain. It burned... _she_ burned, and had he been able to stop, he was sure that his instincts would have overridden everything else as he would have certainly drawn away from the source of such power. Instead, he stumbled through the energy, through the very _pain_ and fell to his knees before her.

Gasping, Harry felt the air burn his lungs as he forced his hands to lift and settle on Buffy's slender shoulders, his back arching as the energy coursed through his lean frame. A grimace twisting his handsome features, he forced his mind around the pain as his eyes locked on the tears that streamed down Buffy's cheeks, her features pinched and her eyes clenched shut. "Buffy," he wheezed, each breath of air costing him as the energy lashed out against the dark sky, dragons and demons and angels falling from the heavens. "Buffy! Open your eyes! Look at me," he ordered, striving to put some kind of power behind his words - and failing miserably, which left him only with one other thing. "Please, Buffy... just look at me," he whispered as he lifted one hand to tenderly cup against her trembling chin, his love lending strength to his words.

Slowly, inexorably Buffy seemed to fight against whatever was holding her as her eyelashes fluttered for a moment before they lifted to reveal a pair of red-rimmed, emerald colored eyes. "Harry, it hurts," she whispered before a whimper caused her back to stiffen as the energy seemed to make the air thick around them. "It hurts so much!"

"I know," Harry murmured, his eyes locking with her own, "but you have to make it stop now."

"I can't," Buffy sobbed, her small shoulders wracking with the force of her tears as the pain and energy - the power - filtered through a body that wasn't built to harbor it. It was too big, too vast, and far beyond her meager abilities to control. It was huge and amazing and it was destroying her just as quickly as it was destroying their world. "It's too much... too strong-"

"You have to," Harry cut in, his words wavering on stilted breaths as his one hand dug into her shoulder. "If you don't, then you'll kill us all," he argued as Buffy slowly began to shake her head.

He was asking too much of her. He was asking something of her that was beyond her control. Fate had demanded a sacrifice from her and she had obliged - and didn't he see how she was suffering for it? She didn't want the world to end. She didn't want her friends to die. Couldn't he see that? She made her sacrifice to save them all and now it was out of her control. Now all that was left was left to him - and for that, she felt her sorrow and pity mingle with her pain. Yet there was no other way. "Kill me," she begged, her eyes never straying from his as another wave of pain battered at her small form. "Please, just-"

"No," Harry cut in, his eyes glittering dangerously in the bright light as he curtly shook his head. "No, I won't," Harry continued as both of his hands dug into her small shoulders, willing her to focus on this small bit of pain and to look past that which was consuming her body and soul. "You're going to have to do this the hard way. We'll do it together."

Sobbing, Buffy tried to blink her tears away as she clung to Harry and his words. There was so much there... so much power and it was pulling her every which way as it slipped through her numb fingers and tore at their world. Her death would end the pain and restore that which had been taken away - that which had been stolen from her control. But as she felt Harry's warm fingers dig into the flesh of her shoulders, Buffy knew that she had no other choice but to try. And as every last bit of wizarding magic had already been painfully stripped from his flesh, Harry gave her the only thing that he could: his love.

As the warmth spread through Buffy's limbs like a warm, soothing balm, the slayer felt Harry's love become tangible as it rooted her thoughts and began to piece her fractured mind and spirit back together, bit by tiny bit. Ignorant of the pain, Buffy reached out with invisible fingers and pulled back that which had flown free, tightened that which had come loose, sewn that which had been ripped, and fixed that which had become broken. And then, when everything that had been so wrong with the world was once more right, she felt that power flow back into her small body as something expanded within her in order to make room, tearing, pulling and straining to make it all fit as she stretched until... until there was nothing but the darkness of blessed release.

* * *

Sighing softly, Buffy drowsily tilted her head towards the warm sun that seemed to bask her face with warmth and pulled her from the sleep that seemed slow to leave her heavy limbs. Which was altogether fine with her, for as the slayer had come to learn over her long years as the Chosen One... or was it the Chosen Four now?... it was that when waking from a sleep that left you drowsy, confused, and all kinds of sleepy, it was usually best to stay in that wonderful limbo for as long as possible. For when waking from such a state, there was usually pain, even more confusion, and a healthy amount of wishing that she had just stayed unconscious. Then again, there didn't seem to be any pain, she realized as she stretched like a lazy cat beneath the scratchy sheets that draped across her slender form, and the large, familiar hand that gently squeezed one of her own didn't seem _too_ distressing. So maybe waking up wasn't going to be so bad this time. Maybe, oddly enough, maybe this time she wasn't going to find herself laid up in...

"Not again," Buffy sighed as her eyes finally fluttered open and took in the familiar stone walls of the Hogwarts infirmary that she so hated. Groaning, Buffy tried to lift her hand to her face, only to have that same large hand squeeze her smaller one once more, pulling her attention to the raven-haired young man that was perched on the edge of her hospital bed beside her. "Harry?" she murmured, fighting against a throat that was unusually dry and scratchy as she took in his beautiful, beaming smile and his green eyes that were crinkled behind his black-rimmed glasses - and then pausing to admire her pink, freshly scrubbed skin that looked far cleaner than she could remember it looking in far too long... although why she had been feeling dirty was a mystery hidden within her scrambled thoughts and memories.

"Scouring charm," Harry stated with a gentle smile as he watched Buffy inspect her skin with a small smile. "You really were quite filthy when they brought you in," he added with a small smile as he reached for a glass of water on a nearby table and helped her to sip the cool liquid. "And don't let Madam Pomfrey hear you saying that. She hasn't been in the best of moods since we showed up on her doorstep two weeks ago with seven new patients."

Torn from her inspection, Buffy stared at Harry in confusion. "Huh?"

"Apparently I borrowed a little too much from the others," Harry quickly explained as he stood to gently pull Buffy forward as he added more pillows behind her lower back so that she was propped up in her bed. "Although," he added with a small smile, his eyes twinkling, "Dumbledore seemed pretty impressed that I was able to pull it off, what with using a wiccan technique with wizarding magic. Then again, _he_ was only unconscious for a few hours. Snape, on the other hand, just woke up a few days ago and he didn't seem very impressed at all."

"I don't... what happened?" Buffy murmured, her expression blank as she tried to sort through the jumbled information and the vague impressions of a horrifying battle and blinding energy that her mind was supplying.

"Plan B," Harry returned quite succinctly as he smiled broadly at her - a fact that she was beginning to find quite annoying seeing as how he seemed oh-so-informed while she was all kinds of muddled.

"Plan B?"

"Yes - well, Plan A was to keep the gods from ever finding you, and you saw how well _that_ worked," he explained as a small grimace pulled at his tanned features. "Plan B was to take back what the gods had taken from everyone else," Harry added as he settled once more on the edge of her bed. "It worked," he added, his grin growing so broad that it looked almost painful. "Ron, Miss Parker, Celeste, and even Angel are all back to normal, in addition to countless others all around the world... then again, I wasn't planning on having to jump to Plan C."

"Plan C?" Buffy returned weakly, even as she tried to remember why Ron, Miss Parker, Celeste and Angel wouldn't be normal in the first place.

"Well that was where you stopped trying to end the world," Harry replied, his expression growing troubled. "After all, I absolutely refused to use Plan D."

For a moment, Buffy could only stare at Harry in silence as everything came rushing back. Dahmascus and Serantine. Bertrone's betrayal and subsequent move to convince her to do what was 'right.' The contorted relay of information of everything that had happened to those that she loved. Her friends' attack upon the Hell Gods. Harry's assault upon them and the children that had taken the Gods' place... and her decision to lower the barriers in order to save the boy that sat beside her. Shaking her head, Buffy mutely turned back to Harry with wide eyes, noting his love and concern as he watched her closely. "Plan D?" she weakly parroted, finally remembering their little game.

"The one where I let General Gregor kill you to save the world," Harry explained as he gently took her hand once more into his own. "I heard why you did what you did," he added with a small frown.

"Oh," Buffy murmured, feeling far from eloquent at the moment. Actually, she was feeling pretty much how she felt after blowing up her high school after her high school graduation. Fire bad, tree pretty and all that.

"Buffy, what were you thinking?" Harry asked, his voice so soft and gentle as he slowly lifted her chin until she was staring into his beautiful green eyes.

Sighing, Buffy tried and failed to look away, all the while cursing her weak limbs. She hated feeling like this. She hated feeling so... mortal. Not that she wasn't mortal or anything on a daily basis, but her slayer powers sometimes made the rest of the stuff fall away. Made her feel... like her mind was wandering. Sighing once more, Buffy focused her gaze on the stricken expression that pulled at Harry's handsome, chiseled features and felt her lips lift in a small, wistful smile.

Each and every day that she woke to see Harry lying peacefully beside her was a day that she had cherished. Ten months. It had only been ten months since Harry had first come into her life.. or rather, since she had intruded upon his, but to a Slayer, ten months felt like the most glorious of lifetimes. Before Harry she had her friends, and before her friends she had had her mother - even a father at one point. And then over the course of time, everything had been stripped away. Her father. Her mother. Her friends when she had been taken away. Yet during that time and during those losses she had gained so much. She had found Giles. She had found Willow and Xander. And for a time, she had even found Angel. And while each and every one of them brought a sense of completion to her hurting and battle-weary soul, none of them (despite Xander's fervent wishes) could stay by her side no matter the time of day or night. No one save Harry, and in that final, blissful way, he truly did soothe her weary soul in a way that made the possibility of living without... impossible. "That I wouldn't want to live without you," she finally returned, her voice soft.

"What? And you thought that I did?" Harry asked, his eyes widening slightly as he quickly shook his head. "Buffy, I love you," he whispered as he slowly bent closer until his lips were lightly brushing against hers, his eyes never once leaving hers.

"And I-"

"Think I'm really going to be sick," Sirius cut in as he and Giles slipped around the white curtain and into Buffy's area, his blue eyes twinkling with undisguised mirth as Harry rolled his eyes at his godfather's antics before reluctantly pulling away and standing to greet them.

"I thought that we had heard voices," Giles added as he quickly dropped a kiss on Buffy's head before he settled onto the bed beside her, his arm slipping protectively around her small shoulders.

"Yes, Sleeping Beauty finally decided to grace us with her presence," Harry returned as he dodged a weak punch from the recovering slayer.

Scowling at her boyfriend, Buffy settled her tired body back against the plump pillows as she reveled in Giles' warmth. It felt like so long since she had been safe and warm - and even though she had only the 'pleasure' of the Hell Duo's hospitality for a mere two weeks, in a way, she supposed that such a feeling of safety and warmth had indeed been too long in coming. As in months. Sighing, Buffy wearily closed her eyes as she rest her head upon Giles' shoulder. At least she could scratch this year's apocalypse off the calendar. She was _spent_ and she just hoped that everyone else... Everyone else. "Where is everyone?" Buffy asked, her eyes flying open as she looked from one face to the other, her earlier worries crashing back into her frame with resounding blasts that practically left her trembling. How could she have forgotten?

Frowning at the tense set to his slayer's shoulders, Giles' gently but firmly held her against him as one hand absently smoothed away a strand of gleaming blond hair - partly amazed at how freely and unrestrained he acted with his slayer after his rather prudish beginning with her years before. "Faith, Celeste, and Chao-Ahn are in Sunnydale, cleaning up the remainders of the mess from when the barriers were lowered," he explained, a small smile pulling his lips at the rather odd combination.

"Hold up - Faith's alright?" Buffy demanded, feeling the pressure around her heart loosen just a little. That was one unknown down, with only seven more to go.

"Well, she was in a coma for awhile," Giles admitted as he shifted slightly beside her, "but she woke up at the same time that you... that you..."

"Went all lightning rod with the energy," Sirius quickly supplied with a quirked grin. "Or rather, I believe that is how your friend, Xander, put it."

"Yes," Harry quickly agreed from his position next to his godfather, his smile turning mischievous. "She said that she received a rather impressive jolt when you activated the Key. She's been rather vocally blaming it on 'all of the time that' you 'spent in her head' last year."

Grinning wryly at the words that had most definitely been borrowed from the dark-haired slayer, Buffy quickly turned questioning eyes back to her watcher. "And who's Chow Main?"

"Chao-Ahn," Giles corrected with a small, patient smile, "from Shanghai. She's the fourth slayer," he added at Buffy's continued blank expression. "Rather charming girl.... doesn't speak a lick of English," he admitted with a small frown as he distinctly remembered the girl's rather inane comments in a language that none of them understood, "but we're working on that."

"And the others?" Buffy pressed, silently going back to her miniature list of missing comrades.

"Well, after numerous assurances that you would be well, Willow, Xander and Tara left to help Wesley and Gunn in Los Angeles," Giles stated as he began to tick their allies off of his fingers - only to halt as Buffy's small hand clasped around his wrist with a strength that surprised them both.

"Angel - and Cordelia," she hastily added as her heart began to hammer painfully against her breastbone. "What about Angel and Cordelia?"

For a moment, Giles stared at her uncomprehendingly until his eyes slowly widened with understanding. "Oh dear," he murmured as he instinctively went for the glasses that were perched on the end of his nose, once more halted by Buffy's persistent grasp. "I had rather forgotten that you haven't... that you haven't heard any of this," he explained haltingly as he looked to Harry and Sirius for help. Help that neither were really equipped to give for they hadn't really known Angel and Cordelia, two of the original Scooby members, for long. "You see," he began, his voice faltering once more, "Serantine took Angel's soul and Angelus... Angelus killed Cordelia," he stammered, wishing he could spare his slayer this pain that the rest of them had had over a month to adjust to. "He... he isn't taking Cordelia's death very well and has... gone away for awhile. Tibet, I believe," he added softly.

For a moment, Buffy could only stare at Giles in numbed horror as her body seemed to pulsate with each and every painful beat of her heart. Cordelia was dead, and Angel had killed her. Cordelia was dead. Cordy - the bitchy, stuck-up and obsessive girl that had made Buffy's first years at Sunnydale so very difficult... and the amazing young woman that the girl had evolved into. The one that had fought the stereotypes to fight alongside her friends in the final battle of their high school careers, and the one who later joined the fight against the darkness alongside Angel in Los Angeles. While admittedly never her favorite person, there was simply far too much history between them for Buffy _not_ to feel the painful blow from her death.. and to know that Angelus had been the one to cause it, leaving Angel's soul to feel the burden...

She had been the one to nurse Angel back to health and sanity upon his return from Hell... and upon the realization of all of those who had been harmed by his unwilling hand, and she knew firsthand the Hell that he would now be going through. And it was so unfair. Angel was already suffering beneath the unbelievable burden of the brutality that Angelus had caused for over four hundred years - it was cruel to add to his burden in this way. It was cruel, wrong, and just more proof of the Hell that Dahmascus and Serantine had managed to unleash upon their world.

Vainly forcing her tears to be held at bay until a time when she could shed them in a place where she could properly mourn the fallen Scooby and her hurting friend, Buffy resolutely tilted her chin up and forced her level eyes to focus on her watcher. This wasn't done and Buffy knew this by the deep sadness and grief that seemed to haunt Giles' familiar green eyes. And as Buffy leveled her gaze upon him, Giles knew that she needed to hear the worst - to weather through the bad before she could relish and appreciate the good.

"Samuel is dead," he stated, knowing no way to soften the words that drove a spike of agony through his tattered heart. And while Cordelia and Angel were Buffy's burden to bear upon her young heart, the loss of Samuel Fellows, Head of the Watcher's Council and his childhood friend... this was undoubtedly his loss to bear until his dying day. "He was killed during Dahmascus and Serantine's assault upon the Council."

Closing her eyes briefly, Buffy quietly dipped her head before turning and wrapping both arms around her watcher as she pressed her cheek against the soft wool of Giles' sweater. "I'm sorry," she murmured as she squeezed the older man gently, smiling softly as she felt his cheek rest against the crown of her head, before slowly pulling away.

"Ron and Hermione said to tell you hello," Harry offered tentatively, awkwardly shifting beside Sirius and trying his best to not appear the intruder that he felt. "They would be here now, as well as the rest of the Weasleys, but Mrs. Weasley hasn't really let Ron out of her sight since he returned to himself, much to his chagrin," he added with a small smile as Buffy returned his smile with a weak one of her own.

"And Jarod and Miss Parker send their regards," Sirius added as he nodded his head at the small slayer. "They didn't really say _why_ they weren't here or what they were doing," he added as he grinned wickedly, "but by the look in Jarod's eyes, I decided that I didn't really want to know."

"I thought that you said that they were going to be shagging like-" Harry began, only to have his words rudely cut off by his godfather's large, calloused hand as it was pressed firmly over his mouth.

"As I was saying, I decided it would be prudent not to ask," he repeated, his voice firm as he glared at his godson's wide, innocent green eyes. "And as for everyone else, namely Remus, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and that slimy git-"

"Sirius-"

"Snape," the Auror continued, pointedly ignoring Giles' warning glare, "they're all off teaching some course or another."

Shaking her head wryly, Buffy settled once more against Giles' lean frame. "What about Bertrone?" she asked, instantly noting the way that her watcher tensed beside her and sending him a cautious gaze.

"What about Bertrone?" Giles returned stiffly.

"Well where does he fit with everything? Is he in Sunnydale with Celeste?" Buffy pushed as she smothered a yawn, hating the way that her eyes were getting heavy already.

"No, he isn't," came his curt reply as Giles went to stand, his hands absently fluffing her pillows and straightening her covers. "He's in Azakaban."

"He's _what_?!" Buffy quickly broke in, her eyes growing wide as she sent her covers flying. "Why is he in Azkaban?" she demanded, her steely green eyes turning from one person to the next - and freezing as she found identical cold, flinty lines in each of the eyes she sought.

"How about betraying us and sending the Gods to our doorsteps?" Giles demanded as he straightened beneath her fiery gaze. "It's because of him that Samuel and Cordelia are dead!"

"Or how about his help in kidnapping you?" Harry added as he angrily crossed his arms across his chest.

"Or maybe it's the part where he shot Harry with one of those muggle weapons and left him for dead!" Sirius retorted as he scowled fiercely at the small blond.

And while Buffy had been well aware of each and every transgression that had been listed against the French Watcher, it was the last one that caused her arguments to die on her lips. "He-he shot you?" she stammered, wide green eyes turning accusingly towards her boyfriend who quickly turned his eyes away.

"Harry almost died because of him," Sirius added, his features twisted with remembered grief and rage. "And for everything that he did, that bastard should have gotten far more than a lifetime in Azkaban. He should have gotten the-"

"But he didn't mean for any of this to happen," Buffy murmured, interrupting Sirius' angry tirade as she wearily leaned back against her pillows, her small hands cradled in her lap before her. "Not really," she amended as she frowned at the three men that stood by her bedside. "At first he only helped them because they promised to give back what they had taken from Celeste. He did it for his Slayer," Buffy explained as she turned a cautious glance to her own watcher. "And when he realized everything that had happened, he... he came back to his senses. But by then it was too late. The damage had been done and he knew what we didn't: that sending them back to their world wouldn't end our world... it would just kill me. And no matter how much I hated it, he was right, because my life isn't more important than the lives of all of those who would have died if they weren't sent back. No one's life was worth that," she finished as she wearily turned away from those that she loved. After all, they hadn't been there. They hadn't seen the anguish in Bertrone's eyes and the suffering that he carried within his soul. They hadn't seen the acceptance and the guilt. They didn't know and... and they didn't want to know.

Everyone needed someone to blame when things went wrong with the world. It was a sad fact, but one that had been proven true, time and time again. Sometimes the blame was placed upon the appropriate shoulders, but other times, when those shoulders were not there to bear the burden, someone else had to step forward to take that place. Such acts could be documented throughout history and unfortunately, would continue to be seen in the years to come. And in the case of a fight against a pair of Hell Gods, with Dahmascus and Serantine gone, they needed someone to blame - and apparently Bertrone had been all too willing to take up that heavy mantle. And Buffy knew that there was nothing that could do about it, for the eyes of the law never looked too closely at motives. They looked at actions, and it was indisputable that Bertrone had done everything that he had been accused of, no matter the reasons behind his actions. No matter his regrets. No matter the regrets of any.

* * *

Smiling softly, Buffy slowly nuzzled against Harry's broad shoulder and accepted his long arm as it pulled her tighter against his side. Despite the lingering cold that permeated her thin frame and fought to steal away her happiness, the small slayer felt whole and content with the world. Their fight against Dahmascus and Serantine had been long and arduous, filled with both pain and heartache. Countless lives had been lost in the five centuries that the Hell Gods walked their Earth, and in the final months of their time, those lives had included many good witches and wizards and muggles that had died to keep her and their world safe. Many lives had been lost, and many lives had been changed - and yet many, many countless more had been saved by their sacrifices.

Sacrifices.

There was that word again. That dreaded word that caused her skin to crawl and the hair at the nape of her neck to stand on end.

Sacrifice.

She had been convinced that Fate would demand the ultimate sacrifice from their Chosen Warrior, and had it not been for a simple twist of Fate - a twist that had occurred centuries before and countless times since - it may have required that which she had been prepared to give: her life. 

Since being called as the Chosen One, Buffy had railed against her Fate. She had raced against her destiny and she had prevailed - and she had continued to live to fight another day. And while she knew that someday Fate would finally come to collect that final sacrifice from her, she also knew that it would be a fate that she would never accept with open arms. For while some may have become beaten down through the years, burdened with so much loss and heartache that they had almost come to see this final sacrifice - this Death - as a Gift of some sort, to Buffy it would forever be what it was meant to be: something to be fought and hopefully, overcome.

If Death was one thing, it _wasn't_ her gift. It was her bane.

It was her duty and one day it would become her ultimate sacrifice.

Most of all, it was her Fate - and one that would hopefully be a long time in coming.

"I'm ready."

Pulled from her thoughts, Buffy quickly stood as her warm green eyes swept over Celeste's pale, tear-streaked face. Without a word the smaller slayer left Harry's side and swept the taller girl into a fierce embrace, allowing the younger slayer to cry her tears onto her small shoulder as she gently rubbed soothing circles on the girl's back.

Silently, Harry stood back and allowed the two slayers their moment, his guarded expression wavering slightly as he turned resolutely away and stared through the barred window and to the rocky shoreline that was just visible through the island's thick mist. While it was his connections to the wizarding world, and more importantly, his fame as the Boy Who Lived and the one who had ultimately defeated Lord Voldemort, that had gotten them permission to pass the barriers into the barred hold, he still found himself unable to do so for any other reason than his love for Buffy. While it was true that Bertrone's actions that fateful day - when he had turned a gun upon Harry and had left him to die - may have saved him from the wrath of the Hell Gods, the fact still remained that Bertrone had looked him in the eyes as he pulled the trigger of his muggle weapon. And while no one truly did know who had summoned the muggle police and medics and alerted them to his and Ron's location... the fact still remained that Harry was only too human. Some things just couldn't be forgiven. And as Harry turned his attention back to the sobbing girl and the young woman that held her, his green eyes locking with her own emerald green, Harry knew that his forgiveness didn't matter. All that mattered was the unspoken love that shined in Buffy's eyes as Celeste slowly straightened.

"Thank you for bringing me to see him," the taller girl whispered as she slowly drew away and smiled first at the small slayer, and then at the young wizard that slowly rejoined their small group. "I know, of course, of all that he has done to everyone... to me," she added, thick tears coursing down her cheeks. "But I also know that I love him, and that he loves me as well. He... he did this all for me," she murmured, "and while he was wrong.. I don't know that I would not have done the same," she admitted before turning and gazing once more to the hallway that led to her beloved watcher. And with a soft sigh, she slowly turned away and slipped silently from the room.

Sighing, Buffy watched the younger girl for a moment before turning and slipping her hand into Harry's. "Thank you," she whispered as she squeezed his hand gently, her own smile tinged with sadness. "I know that this can't of been easy for-"

"You're welcome," Harry interrupted as he pressed the fingers of his free hand against her lips. "You're welcome," he repeated before bending low to press a warm kiss against her parted lips. And as his breath sighed into her body, Buffy knew that no more words were needed. For while the going had been rough, and even though the ending was more bittersweet than happily ever after, she did know that the boy that held her as though he were holding something so very precious had loved her through it all. He had been by her side through every rocky step, and he had saved her, and them all, in the end. He had loved her and he had believed in her, and in the end, that was all that she had ever needed.

Well... that and Fate could take a high dive off of the first rocky cliff it came to. From this point on, she was writing her own Destiny.

**The End**

**Author's Notes Continued:** *grins* Big happy everyone, for this trilogy is officially completed! Yay!!!! Seriously though, this is the point where I once more get down on my hands and knees and praise each and every one of you who took the time to send me a review every now and again (or after every chapter ;p) and encourage me to keep going. It's because of you guys and your encouragement alone that this story saw its completion as you saw me through all sorts of tricky situations to give you what I hope you'll see as a fitting ending. This is also the usual point where I beg, plead, and ask very nicely for _everyone_ to take a moment to send a review now, even if you always send one or never have before, and let me know what you thought of the story as a whole. Did you like it? Love it? Despise it?? What did you like?? Which of the trilogy did you like best and why?? Trust me when I say that your comments help to direct what I'll write in the future and what kind of a tone I'll take with my writing.. plus, it's the final huge reward for a writer - and one that I'd appreciate after all of the time and work this project took! So please, review away!

Finally, I also wanted to take this chance to plug my next project, "Equinoxium." It's going to be completely unrelated to the Twist of Fate Trilogy, a BtVS/LoTR crossover that will _not _feature Buffy joining the Fellowship nor dropping in on the Council of Elrond. Already it's looking to be yet another epic, but one that I'm hoping you'll enjoy... and did I mention that this is a season 7 BtVS fic?? *grins* So please keep an eye out for it (I hope to begin posting within the next couple of weeks) and let me know what you think!! ;p

Lastly... **THANK YOU ALL!!!**


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